and uneloquent

(53)

Mon, 15 Apr 2013 09:38:37 -0400

It is never fun dealing with enigmas. Perhaps at first it will be, fun, as with all novelties. But novelties fade, like how wall paints dulls with the passing of weather, but faster, much faster. Only as long as human patience & whim can stand it; only that long. After that it becomes tiring. You are stretched to every fibre to just stand there and appear civil, heavy to the bones to just smile and appear understanding. When really.

Sometimes I wish I have a phone number which I can call just to cry and cry and cry. Without any...

Fri, 08 Mar 2013 04:44:33 -0500

Sometimes I wish I have a phone number which I can call just to cry and cry and cry. Without any restraint. & sometimes is turning into a lot of times.

(52)

Mon, 11 Feb 2013 03:24:10 -0500

What I wanted to say but couldn’t is that I want to be the previous person: nice & polite, undemanding & patient, non-chalant & unperturbed by changes or inconsistencies. I only see one way to do that: undoing all these. We are sensitive because we are affected. We are affected because we care. I don’t know why we care. But there must be a way of undoing all these. Until the time comes.

(51)

Thu, 31 Jan 2013 06:07:20 -0500

I find it heartbreaking, not funny or sweet or warm and fuzzy - heartbreaking. Heartbreaking how we send encrypted signals back and forth. I don’t know what we hope to achieve, or not achieve. It is heartbreaking how difficult it is. It is difficult. I don’t know about you, but it is very difficult for me.

(50)

Fri, 19 Oct 2012 11:07:00 -0400

People who say they will never leave will leave you. People who promise to make you always happy will constantly make you sad. They will do it the way amnesic people do: with an innocent smile as they turn back on their words. It is good that you are used to it.

(49)

Sun, 14 Oct 2012 06:38:11 -0400

It is true that when I’m sad, I write a lot. I write almost everyday nowadays, despite my poor little mostly keyboard who probably wish I’d leave him alone given the heavy hint he dropped - by not bloody working. Sorry. I don’t usually swear, and say sorry, which is both stupid and pretentious.

But it is also true that when I’m sad, I write poorly. It follows a simple logic: they didn’t come from inspiration, but rather the need to vomit words to keep myself sane. Uninspired collection of words which came from a ranting heart that refused to heal. People expect it to heal so quickly. Are we created equally? Did we go through the same pain? Am I wrong to take my time?

I am however deeply thankful today, and proud of my own self. If I can kiss and hug myself I would, it is a cause for celebration. For receiving the news and not being affected, in the very slightest. Things happened which I thought affected me deeply, and it felt like a monster waiting in hibernation, to sneak up when the time is right. But it didn’t. The water was still. I killed the monster. It was nothing. The realisation shuddered me slightly, by how cynical and unfeeling it probably made me. Perhaps I needed that, going through that. So that,

Perhaps I can repeat that again this time around.

(48)

Wed, 10 Oct 2012 09:18:29 -0400

My heart sinks every time. For every glimpse I see. They’re not for me. And for each I don’t. Another place, another time, a different crowd.

I wait but I don’t know what I’m waiting for. At times I get a fleeting chance of what I thought I wanted. But as quickly as it passed away, I realised, that I don’t really want it anyway. Doesn’t that make it mutual? Doesn’t that make it easy?

Perhaps it’s an illusion. Of wanting. Perhaps I don’t want anything. Doesn’t that make it easy?

Then why is it not easy at all?

(47)

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 11:29:44 -0400

But I want to talk.

(46)

Sun, 30 Sep 2012 09:57:00 -0400

It’s a weekend of high fever and unnecessary drama. Maybe unnecessary fever and high drama. I keep hoping people would forget what a dramatic person I can be. But playing it on repeat doesn’t help.

I suppose our choices reflect our priorities; & how they shift and change. How they slowly do so, whether we choose to admit it or not. I suppose some things are transient, and some constant. And one is more than the other.

& people who care will care.

(45)

Tue, 25 Sep 2012 02:34:00 -0400

I have a case to present. But nobody to present it to. It is right for one to be angry; but is it not only fair to listen to the whys. Why do we always assume we are right over everyone else. I want to know both sides of everything. But nobody to glean it from. It is right for one to blame the other, but is it not only fair to understand the cause of every act, before simply dismissing it on weak character. Is that not arrogance. Perhaps I do have a weak character; explains why I let my guard down.

This is becoming dangerously didactic and sad it scares me.

(44)

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 12:52:00 -0400

When I was younger, I have a theory I wholeheartedly subscribed to. That good and bad come in pairs: so my shortcomings are compensated with the blessings. Like the fact that I’m short (despite my other siblings normalness) may be compensated by my good eyesight (which most of them don’t enjoy for long). & I’m secretly reluctant to correct my pronunciation in fear that my grades may fall, or something equally terrible will happen, like losing someone dear. It sounds silly now, but it’s a risk I dared not take, in my sillyness. Because being good in exams was all I’m good at then, & losing someone crushes me solid. It sounds silly now, aren’t we supposed to improve from our shortcomings? & rise beyond our self-inflicted inferiority complex? But I was being silly & wholeheartedly believed it. I probably still do.

Strengths & weaknesses. Strengths & weaknesses. It gave me long thoughts on how people behave around them. About them. Some flaunt their weaknesses, but selectively (always the mild, harmless one), seemingly apologetically, to be excused from expectations. Some only do so with the people they carefully selected, people of trust, again to be excused from expectations, bigger this time, hoping for acceptance: a whisper for help. Most flaunt their strength too, with feigned subtlety, hoping for the acknowledgement verbalised not from their own tongue. Sometimes when I see someone so confident, so blessed, I wonder: what weakness was overcame, or hidden? & every timid one hides a jewel.

Because they make us whole. A human being with perfection & flaws. But we don’t want people to see the whole of us, in fear of rejection. People only accepts the ideal, aligned to popular opinion. We thus make ourselves presentable, changing the mask from situation to situation.

That tires us.

& makes our family so precious & dear to us. Nothing beats an acceptance, of our flaws we are so tired of hiding. Nothing beats a hug after an angry burst, and consoling words after every misstep, and a stronger grip before each leap. Because they know you don’t mean the words, and that you’re trying hard. Because they know you. And accepts you as who you are.

(43)

Thu, 13 Sep 2012 10:45:52 -0400

Today was a bad day - so I need to write. People say that the best way to make your day is to make someone’s day. I did the opposite. Hooray.

People is not my best skill. Awkwardness is the least of the problem. I’m afraid of the things less apparent.

I miss him - and everything conspires to remind me of him, every single day. The way a stranger scrunches his elderly face; the message I no longer receive; the endless politics; the star spreading (not that it’s the same over here); the simple drive through KL. Sweetheart. I will no longer (ever) hear that.

I thought about it long and slow and realise how much I contradict myself. The things I say, and the things I really want, are two poles. Please read my mind: because I can’t. Maybe we can all live happy; maybe it’s wishful thinking, when we overrate life itself. I will be content with not having. I must be.

(42)

Tue, 11 Sep 2012 19:49:18 -0400

The void is getting bigger. And it’s turning me increasingly demanding and selfish.

(41)

Tue, 04 Sep 2012 07:43:00 -0400

My sudden long post made me realise something perhaps very important: how I am rarely inspired to write anymore. Wait. Let me dissect how I write in the first place, did I need inspiration before this. & this is me thinking and writing candidly (another thing that post made me realise).

It’s almost a yes-I-obviously-need-inspirations. Sometimes I don’t particularly need one. I just make up stuff and then work on it. First in my head (& that’s where 80% stayed), then on writing. It will be played on repeat until the buzzing becomes unbearable: time to write it down.

When it’s inspiration-based, I need to work fast, as my head vomit stuff faster than I can type. A buffer zone would be useful in these cases, except that I would forget them anyway. Sometimes I write in random sequence hoping to sort it out to a decent prose later; by luck it will; often the flow only come once. Editing (other than grammar) or purposely wanting to make it longer will only mess it up. Strange creatures, those words are.

& this dissecting make 2 things obvious: i) I no longer make things up; my mind is definitely not buzzing now ii) no inspiration, yes.

What inspired me anyway. I won’t be able to correctly pin-point anything. Sometimes it’s event, probably people (often strangers; what makes them so inspiring? the novelty? the underappreciation of people around us?). Is life that mundane? Emo moments. Ah, anger and sorrow - a writer’s best friend. Am I then happier now? No. I suppose I disallow them to have a share in my writing anymore. They still dominate somehow. But this dictation, of what will get what share. Calculative.

Maybe I am. After everything, and for everyone, perhaps I must.

(40)

Fri, 31 Aug 2012 02:14:00 -0400

It’s pathetic how early I’m saying this, but I wish I’m younger. I don’t wish to turn back time; or to be born earlier; I want more years to feel young. Which is silly anyway - because time is relative, and I am young, on general terms.

But I feel ancient already. People expect maturity from me. I expect maturity from me. Nothing else. I’m losing my idealism: my glass is tinted with the accumulation of disenchantment, promises broken, tragedies I still look back in disbelief, and just a new awareness of how people are, and what they are capable of becoming past the first hello. Layers and layers of skepticism as I look into the future horizon. It’s pathetic how early this is happening. But I suppose it’s better to be armed early.

People say age is relative. You are as old as you want to be. I want to be old enough, but not with bitterness. I want the courage to venture into newness, & not pulled back by the idea of a safe life. I want to always travel, & not for tourism.

But even as I write, a cloud of doubt passed by and settled here.

(39)

Sun, 12 Aug 2012 02:42:19 -0400

When the time comes, nothing matters anymore - only the three as your supply. I want mine to be as endless and growing as his. But what a long way to go. And short a time in hand. Nothing else matters. Nothing. A thought that slaps me daily.

I doubt I am the same person. I don’t know weaker or stronger, but different; just different. It’s amazing what you can achieve when you change your priorities. Excuses are just what it is - a hurdle you place yourself. I want to continue to need less. And less.

(38)

Wed, 25 Jul 2012 09:45:37 -0400

She said now is the time to grieve with all my heart. And build my strength bit by bit from there. She said talk, and let it go. She speaks with the authority of an experience, and with the sincerity that reaches over, hoping for an accepting hand.

But grieving is a privilege. And letting go is not a choice.

Avoiding a fact doesn’t change the fact. Nor casual brushing off of the numerous kind thoughts. I hate sympathies. What are people sorry about? But they mean well. People often mean well, even when they blurt insensitive things - the curse of an awkward generation. Still, I hate sympathies.

I just need a place and a time, to properly grieve.

(37)

Tue, 22 May 2012 09:08:28 -0400

I’m certainly not worth the pain.

(36)

Sat, 12 May 2012 22:58:00 -0400

Being this age puts me in constant wariness. Expectations just pile up at the corner. Responsibility burgeons daily. Decision-making gets more urgent: how do I even decide in this state of mind? I want to be reasonable but still retain my idealism. There is no point using the “you don’t know anything about life” or “if only I know what I know now, I would…” arguments. Is life not a journey of self-discovery; and do we not have different experiences; isn’t our perspective unique anyway? I need to make this decision on my own. Either me, or the rebel inside who would crush all my careful reasoning in favour of proving my point. I don’t want to be threatened with the possibility of regrets. Can anyone promise me that their suggestions won’t lead to my regret? Only He knows. Only He knows.

What I need now is a quiet time alone. To find myself again; and where I stand in His eyes. I miss Stratford.

(35)

Mon, 07 May 2012 10:22:03 -0400

This will be a bitter useless post I have always deem necessary but never get to curate proper enough words to do justice to whatever was. I now realise there will never be proper words. Just splinters, just splinters:

“Problems begin/with a splinter lodged in memory.

It is hard to remove/much harder to describe.”

- Ewa Lipska, from “Splinter”

I will start by saying that I was right all along - but even I didn’t the strength to follow my own correctness. The next thing I must say is that I was saved, and thus thankful. I wonder what the bystanders think.

People are more than what they seem, projecting only what they feel they want to be known as. You can know a person all your life and still be surprised. We can claim all principles we supposedly hold to. But principles are actions, not big words. I was often asked to try another person’s shoes before I conclude - it helped, it really did, give me long thoughts. But after a while I also realise that kind of thinking makes me overthink: I form patterns and formulas to make sense of things, and they sometimes make sense, when they don’t, I make them make sense. In the end, it doesn’t always work. We think differently. We believe different things. We have different logic - and sometimes those logic diverge so much there’s nothing in this world that can make it work. As much as we don’t want it to. Especially as we don’t want it to.

Trust is a scary thing - laugh but to me it is. I’d rather be mistrusted than bear the burden of a trust. I used to think it is built, like the cliche people say. Now I think it’s like the ability to draw cartoons: you either have it or you don’t, people either trust you or they don’t. Of course it can be ruined by just one misstep. But people who can be trusted just do not miss their step. It’s strangely as simple as that.

I will end by saying that it was a disappointment to see things repeat their cycle. You create your own karma.

Done with this, I can from now on write happy things.