A life review (Third year)

It’s the end of my third year of university. I’ve been telling that to myself repeatedly now but it has not settled in. True, I have one more year to go but it is just hard to process that this phase is actually coming to an end.

To most, university is a means to and end. You want to get into a prestigious university to ease your way when you’re entering the work force. But for me, university IS my end. I think it was when I was 8, that the idea of studying abroad came to me, after one of my family member left for Australia for uni. Starting from then, I go through each round of exams, knowing that those were all means for me to achieve my goal, which was to get into a university abroad. Now, that I’m here, I’d be lying if I say i’m not slightly clueless about what I’m going to do next. Cause i’ve done it guys, I’ve fulfilled my biggest life goal.

Third year. To sum it up, it’s the year that I lived with no regrets. I was able to enroll in a summer school program, in a good university (Peking Uni), doing a course I absolutely enjoy (Mandarin), all while being able to travel around China (Yes, I’m including China in ‘third year’). And although I’m not going to say that all my courses were enjoyable and applicable in the future -I’m referring to you, Global Justice and Citizenship- the majority of it was. Like, how cool is it to be learning about Political Islam and the Politics of Sex and Gender? The courses may sound cool, but the contents will blow you off your seats. I don’t think that any other courses have impacted my political opinion and my general view of the world as much those two have. In all honesty, before third year, I was getting sick of Politics, sick of IR and academia and all these white privileged men telling me about everything that happens in Europe and America. It’s as if no one else exists, no one else matters. And it was so tiring to the point that I really questioned my degree. Hey hey hey, not anymore, ey.

Let’s also not forget all the friends I made this year. The new people I met, who surprisingly have become relatively important subjects considering the short amount of time they have existed in my life. Not forgetting my decision to dive into the world of relationships and although I’ve closed that chapter, I must say that I don’t regret ever trying it out. Most of it due to the fact that my partner was the best person I could ever choose to do this whole romance thing but alas, I realised that having feelings for someone and committing myself to a relationship are two very different things. While I am not opposed to the prospects of being in a relationship, I am quite sceptical now that I understand more about myself, my priorities and the lengths that I would go to for a person. In the future if someone manages to change my opinion then yay, great! but if not then, yay, great!

I am pretty sure that none of this is of any interest to anyone but I must say I enjoyed writing this unstructured, unimportant, post on my life. No tutor is going to comment after each chapter, no one to correct any errors or criticise anything I say. Cause really, who knows better about my life that myself right?

End of ideals

Romance lives in dreams
And marriages are only ideals
Best kept in the realms of what if’s
Where its buds grow into beautiful fairytales
Pluck them out from where they should be
Expose them to the harsh realities of the world
And it withers, crippling under harsh conditions

This is a warm up exercise. I want to comeback with longer pieces and non-poop writing. Hopefully, it will come sooner than later. Cmon angst, hit me up here.

Farewell to the skill I once had

I have genuinely lost all my writing skills. I think. It happened somewhere between the absence of a need to write essays and the not so inspirational surrounding I have at home.

No.
I am lying.

These are just reasons. It was the same last year during my first summer break and I had still managed to produce one of the longest works I have ever written.

It is me.

I have lost the ability to write with confidence. I have forgotten the emotions that kicks in, forcing my fingers to dance on the plastic keyboard of weirdly arranged letters. I cannot remember what it feels like to have the same 10 fingers vomiting something beautiful.

How do I write something that is close to my heart but not too close that I leave myself bare, like a display in the public spaces of free-entry museums? Yet, I do not want to write something so distant, something I do not feel connected to. That would just mean writing cliches and things you have probably read before.
I have a longing to be original, somewhat special.
But how do I even start to be original when I am clearly not.

I guess it is nice to amuse myself with dreams so high I can’t see them  even with 20/20 vision.

He Is

He is lost
In the sea of bodies
Sweat and sin smelling hugs
Bed sheets that were never his.

He is drowning
In the liquids he forces his body to consume
Throat slowly corroding from the drinks that burn
A shot more to being more awesome

He is confused
Why his money makes bad company at night
If his parents are any different from ATM machines
He untangles his mind with straight lines of white
*Sometimes you just have to right regardless if you’re in the mood. Partly because maybe there are people out there who wants to read what you’ve written but mostly because you need to push yourself to write because writing is a skill that needs to be constantly polished.

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The best feeling in the world is when you are able to stand up for yourself and fend off bullies.

There is only so much a person could take. Only so much hatred and frustration one could hold back.

It is absurd that a person does not feel safe in the confines of their own home. There is always the fear of being attacked, harassed or insulted and degraded on a daily basis.

The fight is rough, harsh shoves and raising voices but nothing beats the satisfying feeling of knowing that you can rely on yourself.

Proud.

Burn

Burn

Burn,
Not bright and mesmerising,
But fast,
Slick tongues of flames,
Licking your useless being,
Edges turning pitch black,
Black like your heart,
Black like your presence,
Turning you into the ashes,
That you are worth,
Because you are nothing more than that,
Dust,
Dirty and unwanted.

The Iron Women (And Their Tender Hearts)

She lies next to me
On this bed for two
But I am the only one
Whose mind is present
While hers is caught between
The right swipes of the wrong app
And the running debt behind a frozen bank account
A husband she no longer calls one
And the daughter who has to carry too much

I wrap my arms around her
Frame frail and fragile
She did not fall into the trap of planning to fail
But her plans have failed her
And she is in a limbo of her unwise decisions
Between her mistakes and the ones of her loved ones
She easily forgives the wrongs that hurt her more

I spend time with her
And it seems like she is okay
But living in a house that is not a home
Torn between wanting to be a ‘good’ mom
Or one who could actually provide
Leaves her in a lose-lose situation
Forcing herself to swallow the unpleasant taste of guilt
When she sees her son and imagines every what if’s

Spectrum

Her touches are the colours of warmth,
The crispy shade of dried leaves,
Crackling under the steps of old souls,
The rough edges of red bricks,
Dust and dirt filling the gaps of familiar fingerprints,
The strokes of beauty on the wide canvas of the sky,
Moments before twilight,
When the sun for once is not painful to the eyes.

Her words are a range of soothing hues,
The fresh smell of newly mowed lawn,
The same that stains scarred knees,
The comfort in laying your head on the ground,
Ends of grass that tickles the exposed skin,
Between the torn hem of worn denim
And loose ankles, sprained too many times.

She is a pantone of strength and security,
Bright and scary like a series of thunders,
During the peak of a turmoiling storm,
Deep seas reflecting the image of the sky,
But also calming ombres that darkens towards the horizon,
I was fooled to believe that they are only separated by a fine line,
When they are dimensions that never meet.

 

 

 

This is my version of TaySwizzle’s Red or Halsey’s Colours, whichever genre you listen to.

Also, i think i might have tried too hard with this, as much as trying to hard can get at 6 in the morning with no sleep the previous night. I only hope I do not sound pretentious in this.

I’m sorry I haven’t been able to post anything. I’m currently working on a piece but I’m having problems distinguishing the lines between being too honest and too exaggerated.

And I would really like to write another short story again but that requires having a decent plot, which means I need to actually think. LMAO.