In slightly more than a month’s time, I’m gonna bid my goodbyes again. I don’t think I’ve ever, for a moment, taken my dear friend for granted, but knowing of his imminent departure somehow got my thoughts running.
I’m reminded of those times where I had to stand alone on my two very wobbly feet. The day when I left Machans Beach and moved out to stay alone. The day when David left Cairns for Tasmania. The day when I had to send Cooper off. The day when Mum left Brisbane. The day when David left Brisbane. The day when I sat on the steps outside my place, looking at the back of a person who would not return again.
I guess I’ve grown to become dependent on this friend of mine, almost expecting his presence to be near. He’s like a brother and I had probably developed a reliance on him. But I guess, it’s time to feel that fear again. Time to once again know that I’d be alright alone.
Time to remember those days when I realised how independence could no longer be a matter of my own childish denial, but a matter of how and when. And as painful as it is, as helpless as I am, as afraid as I can be, I could only welcome those goodbyes and not resist them.
Some days, I’m still trying to figure out what I really want to learn and remember from this life. Some days, struggles are so silent, only those who struggle would know. Some day, it would probably not matter anymore.
I draw lines all the time.
While my lines can come in all forms (thin, wavy, straight, curvy), I will always draw lines.
I’m sorry, but I’m strict like that.
Because I refuse to be a hypocrite.
Because I have to be an example of my words, despite difficulties and pain.
Feel my heart, and know that it knows no malice.
We live with values, and we die by them.
I can probably hold my nose up in the air now and brag about how I’ve survived overloading my studies with five courses and one part-time/causal job throughout my whole final semester.
Yet, it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t try hard enough. They weren’t tiring enough to break me. Wasn’t enough to push me over the edge. Wasn’t even enough to numb that hurt that never healed.
So much for bragging, Tng.
I guess, I did come close to breaking. Just that some survival instincts were activated, so I live. Damn. But running away is tough. One second of freedom and you’re gone. You cry. You feel that crack in your gut and you feel that hollow space in your chest. You feel that damage and you know that, even if you heal, you will only be a product of a damaged good.
Because that’s escapism. Because the fear of facing the pain is greater than the fear of running away. Because the living has got to live.
And you see the ugliness of people. Those who are irresponsible. Those who brag of their everlasting love but will shun away because their
apparently-very-wholesome love cannot even encompass your changes. Those who can only comprehend that which is ‘different’ to be ‘wrong’.
But on the bright side, I guess I’ve also got to see those who will embrace your changes, your dilemmas and your contradictions. Those who understand that humans can be unsure. Those who can comprehend that life is a series of constant metamorphosis, and while changes can feel unpleasant, they still fully accept who you are. And they are those who truly love, truly judge but truly accept.
Damages to the heart will always be irrevocable. But for those who appeared on the bright side, I can only be ever grateful.
What a controversial topic.
Should I judge those who committed suicide as murderers that threw away their precious lives when others are fighting to live? Or should I applaud their courage to abandon the illusionary importance we’ve all placed in what we’ve come to know as ‘life’?
Disparaging act, maybe. Yet, Death might not be the most pleasant person to meet, and to catch Death before it catches you, might probably take as much courage as to continue facing Life.
I won’t condone with self-murder, but I’d probably not condemn it too. Because, while ‘to live is an act of courage’ (Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Letters to Lucilius), but not many realise that it is because of our cowardice and fear of our inevitable audience with Death, that we continue living.
You fall right back into the same inferno. The one that incapacitates you. The one that turns your guts inside out. The one that reminds you that your heart isn’t quite in one piece or two, but in smithereens that act as a whole body just to keep you functioning.
C’mon already, Death. I’ve waited for nearly 5 months, acting as if it doesn’t hurt, going on as if I’m whole, breathing as if it’s an easy thing. Yet all this while, I bow my head in fear. I cower behind my blankets so Nightmare doesn’t find me. I stand indifferent because I am supposed to be fine by now. But I’m not. I’m not, and it kills me bit by bit, yet not enough for me to die. So fucking claim me as your own already. You’re so fucking late, and my patience is waning.
Why question the solitary eccentric?
Because rightful reasons would inevitably become excuses.
And you, you will always be right, no?
Why question the withdrawal?
Because why should one speak when words won’t be heeded?
And why should one gather, when one had so obviously been disregarded?
Why question the cold feet?
When your hearts will always be warm, while mine would always be bleeding.
And when your minds will always be perfect, while mine would always be flawed.
A new slash on an unhealed wound.
Why, I thought it was numbed.
Why, oh why, does it add up to actually, and still, hurt?
I should probably blog a little more here. Read more, learn more new words, and learn to apply them a little more. It’s been my personal space for such a long time, ever around despite all my tantrums and running away.
Yet, I can’t be fully back. My less-than-jubilant facade would not completely and truly hide the half soul that is fueling my emotional responses and the half spirit that is weary from breathing.
The sound of the heartbreak still reverberates in my ears and its crushed remnants still bleed with fresh blood. Insidiously, I’ve changed. Change to a craven. Changed to no longer have the courage to put my heart on the line.
Oh the stupidity. Yet why does the black hole in my chest not subside? Why does my eyes still well up with tears?
The broken spirit will lead a half life, give a half smile and chuckle a half laugh. But I guess, it will survive. Just another decade would suffice.
After a long day, I’d rather be alone than be chatting with strangers. / I make sure I have enough alone time on a daily basis, even though I do enjoy spending time with people. / I love eating chocolates, despite of its ‘sinful’ properties. / I don’t recover easily.
Oh sorry (not sorry), just me and my flawed thinking.
But in that case, I can probably make the bold statement of saying that anyone with any form of personality and any kind of personal preference would be deemed as flawed.
Because it is essentially saying that desiring alone time is just a flawed thinking of being reticent, enjoying chocolates is the flawed thinking that the body would remain healthy after consuming all the sugar, and taking a long time to recover is the flawed thinking that recovery takes a long time.
At the end of the day, you don’t need to be a mad-keen religious being to behave just like the Pharisees and Sadducees.
I won’t say that I’m fine, because I’m not.
And I can’t say I’m not angry, because I am.
But as much as I’m ever so sure of your awesomeness, right now you’re a fucking piece of shit.
Be happy. Be wise.
When you realise you haven’t shifted a single inch away from the pain you thought had gone away, you realise how time doesn’t make any difference.
I should probably avoid wearing anything brown for now, because I’m not too keen to look like some tree that got electrocuted on the top. But anyhoo, Michymoo’s superb hair dying skills had once again achieved success on my
broom-like hair! I guess I can officially pass off as some Asian-gangsta-girl. Perhaps a couple of additions to my unusual body piercings and a tattoo?
I was, obviously flushing after drinking the VERY MILDLY alcoholic Buchi Kombucha. But it’s really nice, though. (:
Well, I suppose my bed is well prepared for winter.
- ONE layer of blanket as bed sheet
- FOUR layers of blankets as blankets
I should probably be able to fall asleep if I can find a way to stop my mind from entering the same thought-marathon that happens every night.
Because hon, for oblivion you tore a treasure out of my flesh.
And you trampled on what was precious to me.
Yet will you ever know?
That the pain came not from the impossibility,
But from my precious broken treasure that you heartlessly regard as naught.
Be well, hon.
Oh, you wanted to close your eyes
To be blind to the damage you’ve caused
To be oblivious to the abrasion of your spoken words
To be ignorant of your own superficial self
Oh, you could just say
‘You’ll be fine one day’
And you’ll go your way
Living so happy and gay
But no, you just wanted to be blind
To step on others to make yourself fine
And your words of apology to vindicate
Are just means to obliterate
Your undeniable selfishness to be blind
Go fuck yourself.
I guess, a huge part of (me) living had always got to do with looking forward to an end.
It’s like, knowing that the most boring lecture would end in half an hour would assuage my dread in being there. Similarly, knowing that my life would end sometime soon keeps me going on.
I’ve always thought that what I’ve been doing in these recent years would suffice, but perhaps, it’s time to bring it all up a notch.
Maybe, this can be considered to be a cowardice and selfish act. But let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Those who don’t want to die, somehow end up dying.
Those who don’t want to live, somehow end up living.
Because the former focused too much on not wanting to DIE while the latter focused too much on not wanting to LIVE.
In this case, I guess we get what we really want. Or not.
I’ll miss every smile and frown, every laughter and anger fit.
And how the kisses you never knew were given, were my little attempts of carpe diem.
Yet, how much of ‘carpe diem’ can one accumulate to compensate for the yearning of the departed?
I miss everything of you, hon.
And will, always.
Be more independent, less reliant and less troublesome.
Sometimes I wonder if we’re constantly running away from certain issues, problems, hurts etc in our lives, so much that we would rather keep ourselves – our minds and bodies – so busy that we can totally evade the things that are of ultimate importance to us.
Are we really all going to end up like this? Are we all going to spend all our time and energy building intangible and useless castles and neglect things that really matter? Are we going to tire ourselves out for the things that we’d ultimately regret about, just because we stubbornly choose to believe that it has the value the society claims, but deep within we know its a lie? Are we going to go about being busy and not realising how much we’ve neglected ourselves and the people around us? Is this really what life is all about?
I have no intentions to lead anyone into a depressing state from the questions I’ve asked. It’s just that, I’m looking at my peers and reflecting on myself and can’t help but wonder about where do people nowadays place their values? Is it on fame? On money? On empty satisfaction? On dead reputation? On faux stability? Or what?
Why isn’t values placed on the happiness of self and of people? If there isn’t an underlying happiness in our humanly existence, then is there really a point of doing anything at all? If we constantly fear things that are ephemeral, how do we live? If we constantly choose to harbour the hurts of the past and choose not to see the good in the future people, then won’t we be treating people in an unfair manner? Then, wouldn’t living be a form of inferno reality with people just conforming to the darkness that is seemingly prevalent in our society?
In this idiosyncratic world, I’d never win. You will only see what you’re expecting to see and be blind to everything else. But is this all? Really?
It’s only TUESDAY and I’m shouting (figuratively) at the top of my lungs and going slightly crazy because it’s the end of my first uni-week! YAY YAY YAY!
Well, my hiatus from very
monotonous exciting blogging life can be explained from my busy week of helping M find a place, move into the new place and sitting in for 8 hours of radio shows. It doesn’t sound much but all of the activities really did take a toll on my energy quite badly.
I’m foreseeing that it’s going to be a rather busy semester, mainly because all the course I’m taking are 2nd and 3rd year subjects. *whines and frowns and sighs and whines a little more* But I suppose, it’s going to be a rather interesting semester too. This semester courses tackle the current situation of mass communication and institutions, and how institutions have a huge impact, control and influence over the mindsets and actions of the masses. (These are what I’ve learnt from my first week!)
Questions about how we are ultimately (and maybe, merely?) by-products of implemented structures that have been taught to the many generations before us piques my interest. What percentage of us consist of the systems that were instilled and taught to us due to some influential party in this world wanting to gain control over the masses for financial gains? While the structure of institutions appears to be prevalent in every society as a form of control, can humans really live without structure?
Okay, these questions confuses me too. I’m not even sure if I’m making sense now…
Anyhoo, it’s been a good 2 days of lectures and now my brain is totally fried from the 1 hour lecture + 2 hours lecture + 3 hours workshop earlier today. But I’m glad I’d be seeing a lot more of Clarice this semester! For some reasons, she brings out the most sampat / ‘bimbotic’ side of me. Oh boy…
Some stupidity a day, puts the insanity away.