Tag Archives: life

The facets behind the social faucet

I need you to know that this is not me.

I am not a collected person, with collected thoughts. Not pensive most of the time with wise words spilling out of my mouth whenever it opens.I am not who I am on any of my social networking sites, not a single one. I need to clarify that who I am on my blog is not who I am on a daily basis. My blog consists of my thoughts when they are too much to be confined within the irregular spaces of my brain. These posts are me being swallowed by my own voices in the middle of the night, threatening the midnight silence.

In real life,

I am embarrassing even to myself. I read what I have written and I cringe but I have to do myself some justice so I shut my ego up and lock it somewhere far. Because my ego will not help me improve myself, my ego is satan dressed in my own skin.

I embarrass myself everyday, I am nowhere similar to my friends and they sometimes make fun of me but we love each other too much to leave anyone behind. I make jokes that no one laughs at or even worse I laugh halfway through a joke and never finish them. I make jokes no one can relate and I can never relate to jokes that are made by others but I laugh anyway. I laugh because it is nice to laugh together with others even when you have no shit what is going on.

I say stupid things every time, things that make my friends question if i am alright. But they know me too well to know that I could never convey what I think in the most cohesive way. That what I say could never really explain how I really think. Probably the reason why most of my essays are shit. In college, a boy once said that a statement I gave was probably the stupidest thing he has ever heard. So then I guess I must be one of the stupidest person he has ever met.

I am not a friendly person. Years ago, I would be so offended if someone says I am not friendly and I would argue with them about it cause I always thought I was. But some time ago I realised that I am relatively not friendly. I am bad at small chats and I could never give a good first impression. When I made ‘being friendlier to others’ as my resolution, that’s when I understood that I am not friendly. You are not friendly if you have to tell yourself that you need to be friendlier to people.

The photos I post are rare moments when I look acceptable in the eyes of the society. Photos that people my age consider ‘cool’ I guess. I have never bothered about the likes or my followers but I must say I do want people to think of me as someone who’s calm and composed. I am not. I have not met anyone clumsier than me. I ruin things too many times that nothing surprises me anymore. I spill things like it is my hobby and get into accidents like I take pleasure in things I cannot control.

I always like to think that I am strong and independent but I am neither. Living alone does not make you independent. Being able to do things on my own does not equate to independence when you are too emotionally attached to people. When the presence of someone is more of a need than a want. I have yet to reach the level of independence I wish I could have. And if it is not obvious enough, I am far from strong. I cannot give you any instances of me being strong. That just proves it.  My post on feminism? They are ideas I am too afraid too share with anyone. I cannot even stand up for my own race when my guy friends say misogynistic statements that make bile rises from my throat. Instead I smile, and mentally stab and mutilate every part of them in my brain. I am ‘that’ strong.

So,

I am telling you now that I am a joke. I have no chill whatsoever. Not a friendly person, not even smart. I am not strong and independent or anything similar. And as much as I hate all these sides of me, I have learnt that I cannot change them, well of course I try but these are deeply ingrained flaws I could never scrub away from myself. Just because I do not post things that indicate that these sides of me exist does not mean they do not exist. They do.

I am everything I love about myself and the flaws I have successfully accepted. Who cares if anyone likes me less because of all of this, I never declared myself as someone likeable. I never started this blog for the sake of others. It was always for me.

And there you go, another negative trait I accidentally expose.

I am also selfish. Haha.

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Insights

There are a few issues I am currently having with the situation I am in and I feel (as I always do) that these issues are not as significant as they ought to be. It is just that when I do not organise them in my mind, they are left scattered like that pile of dirty clothes that always cover your bedroom floor, appearing even when I do not feel like dealing with it, leaving my mind in a constant state of mess.

As you will soon observe, there is a reoccurring theme in my thoughts, most of them are very idealistic, coming from a privileged point of view. But I would like to cut myself some slack. I am 21, living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and I am very blessed to do what I love doing: learning. This is probably the only phase in my life where I can get away with having an ignorant, simplistic view of the world. The few years where I could grant myself as much attention I am able to give. The most appropriate time for me to challenge my views whenever I want or pack my fallible opinions in a box and tuck them away and comfort myself by not having to confront the fact that they are not sound arguments at all.

Most of the projects or challenges that I have decided to take on are mainly because I am trying to understand myself. I need to know what are my limits, what are the lengths that I would go to for certain things. But most importantly to discover what I enjoy doing and what I could see myself doing in the long run. I never see anything I pursue as my end game. In simple terms, I do everything for my own enjoyment, I do them to avoid being bored at having a routine life (and sometimes just to humor myself but lets not talk about that). So, when people assume these are all done to fill up the spaces on my CV or to ease my way into the path that I wish to pursue after university, they are all wrong. I must say all the work that comes with being involved is not worth the 20 words you are able to fit into your CV to impress people and that people do not even care if you add your positions on your Facebook profile.

So do not do things for reasons other than to learn. Do not do things for the purpose of being able to meet certain people. Do not pursue something for the sake of the perception people will have on you. These are part of the experience that you will obtain but they should never be the purpose you pursue them. This may seem selfish but you should never do anything other than what makes you feel ‘better’? (I would like to use the term happy but it does not sound quite right, I was thinking of something more along the lines of satisfaction). Only be a part of something that makes you want to do it even when you are not obliged to.

Also, there are so many things that I feel like I should have some level of desire for but I do not. And that worries me because I have this assumption that you are only an adult when you desire what adults desire. So if you do not, does that mean you are not at that level of maturity yet? It is funny how we associate maturity to adults when all they do is desire for things that they have created themselves, ideas that they construct and later promote them as the larger things in life that everyone should aim for. Easy for me to say as I have yet to experience ‘real life’ and the problems that comes with it. I guess one day I will become one of them, with a tunnel vision for the ugly shade of green on printed notes and a narcissistic view of myself. I wish I could opt out of this stage of life, but I reckon I will not be able to. I just hope I do not die in this state.

And as for dealing with people I despise, I prefer to avoid them. Nothing good comes whenever I come in contact with them. I either repress my feelings which I think is not healthy for me, or I end up them cursing them in my mind or vent out to other people (I try to avoid this as much as possible because my thoughts on people should never influence how others think of them, that is sabotage and I am not cool with that), both are not great options. So the only possible alternative is to just retract yourself. It’s a win-win situation really, you do not have to bear with the presence of simply unpleasant people and you save yourself some sins that you would have committed otherwise.

There are so many things I should be grateful for, one being the friends that I surround myself with. I do not know what I have done to be so blessed but the people that I keep with me right now, know that they are the only people I would ever need. There are about 10 that I have in mind and I do not think that there is a need to explicitly mention their names but I need to put it out there that these people are the people I live my life for. The reason why I need to be good, the people I want to be nice to because they deserve having someone who is able to provide them with whatever they need to be happy and I am striving to be just that.

And on love, I think I have always known this all along but I have just been able to put it in words recently. I think you only truly love someone once you realise that you would love them even if you are not required to. More importantly I feel that love does not equate to dependence. That you could always love someone without the constant need for them. Otherwise, wouldn’t it be wrong if I love someone because I need them, because my goal is survival and they are just a mean for me to achieve that? I want to be alive and independent and then would I only want someone I consciously make the decision to invest my feelings in? It is almost as if I am saying here, I have everything I could possibly need in my life and I could die happy but despite having everything, I would go to great lengths to have you in my life even if I could have just lived it perfectly fine by myself.

Look, I have an essay of 2000 words due next week and I am stressing myself out but I have written 1200 words here without breaking a sweat. Now this really makes me wonder if I am doing the wrong degree or if this is just 1k of bull. No surprise, I have been producing crap worthy essays for some time now, this is just one to add to the pile.

haha

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Drowning in the dark

Fingers splay on the side of her neck, tips pressing down with slight pressure as they move in minuscule circles just enough to wake the nerves. The massage is almost a movement of plea for it to stop being so sore. Her personality is sore enough -at least to everyone else- and there really is no room for her body to add up to it.

…..

She has no rights to nag her own body, it was she who decided it was easier to let her head hung low. Not for a day or two but as long as she could remember, ever since her insecurities became visible to her. Her movements too harsh, her voice too much of a screech, her smile too crooked. It was obvious to her how people reacted when she was herself around them. The slight shift of the body, the millisecond frown of judgement, they were all tell-tale signs screaming at her although they do not deafen her, they still shut her from the rest of the world. In a way, her eyes are too observant. Paying attention to things she could live without knowing. Another flaw carves on a section of her brain that is taking up more space than it should.

…..

A sigh releases from her heavy lungs, not from the damp, salty air but the constant burden she carries for being herself. Her existence is more of an imposed duty. Days do not pass, they drag. At the pace of a Giant Galapagos tortoise. In the middle of a stone quarry. Under the burning Sun of the Iranian dessert. Every breath accompanied with a burn in her heart. It is a wonder how her heart is not the darkest shade of black on the html colour code. Wait, it is the second darkest, almost an achievement.

…..

One leg hovers above the covers with the other underneath, she blinks in the dark but it makes no difference. Nothing does anymore. Her friends are a constant blur of waves and unimportant chatter. A pleasant distraction on good days, a mass of wasted cells and organs on certain days of the month (seven straight days every month to be more precise). They are not stupid, her friends I mean, if we do not take into consideration their school grades. They know. She thinks she has an eye for details but she has forgotten that others could have the same qualities as well. She thinks that that made her special, if that is the case then she really isn’t. They know from her over calculated smile and the way she taps her fingers to the rhythm of when-will-you-shut-up. They discovered it for quite a while now but they are staying right where they are. It is always on the back pages of those glossy magazines, mostly life advices recycled from last decade’s edition: ‘…do not push them away’, ‘stability is important…support them’, ’10 ways to…’.

…..

Humid air makes her nerves tingle with excitement, a vast contrast from the dry air conditioned building she just exited. She looks up to the sky, questioning why she is wasting money on people who asks the same questions and tells her the same things. She begs for something different with hands clasps tight, eyes doing the same as she chants ‘different’ repeatedly in as many languages she remembers hoping that one of it is understood by whoever it is who decides her destiny. The trick -or spell? or mantra?- works. ‘Different’ greets her in the form of a lanky boy crouching against the wall with a smirk stretching across the side of his face that is not visible from where she is standing. The wind sends her an omen through the shivers travelling across her spine but she shakes it off, rapid blinking the only movement she makes for a while. The same wind pushes the light strands of his dark hair as his fingers try to tame it down. The same gush causes the crumpled piece of paper she has been holding onto to slip and float a couple of seconds before it lands in a puddle of muddy water. The already unreadable writing smears leaving a large blotch of blue under the bold, printed word: Prescription.

…..

Fall has always been her favourite season, the warm hues of orange and brown versus the slightly chilly air carrying the sweet scent of cinnamon and pumpkin. That year, autumn never came but she is not one bit sad. Spring took up all four quarters of her life, and it shows from the radiant bloom of her cheeks and the smell of blossoms in her hair. Her odd year consisted of wasting an extra 5 minutes everyday due to waiting and the consistent phone beeps every few minutes filling her phone memory with ‘what are you doing?’ and heart emoticons. Although she felt a certain kind happiness she has never felt before, her unfamiliar body cannot help but cringe at the constant show of affection but accompanying those cringes are no longer scrunched up noses but achingly wide smiles.

…..

He is an enigma, a rubix cube of mood swings and soft touches with far more baggage than the usually capped flight allowance. But she has her own too and although they try and try to pretend that they are better for the sake of the other, at the end rules are still rules and the fine has to be paid. She has always adored puzzles, envying the life of the man whose slender fingers have memorised the deep lines of her palm. She endures the pain her scalp makes whenever she tugs her hair out of frustration as the door closes slowly, broad shoulders fading away. The house feels too big for her and her soul that is shrinking with each minute she spends without the presence of a certain hot headed, cold hearted man who only knows how to do things in extremes. Like spending the night leaning opposite her front door with his head on his knees gently rocking to the tempo of regret, a thousand thoughts on ways to apologise but none that could wash away the guilt that stains him.

…..

She wears a white dress today, the one that makes her look like those characters in children books who always gets the prince. The hem floats around her ankles as she sits on a chair in the middle of the room, her breathing is even, even as her heart beats so loud that it echos in her ears almost making her cover them with her hands to make it stop. A lone tear slides down from her left eye breaking a promise she made to herself earlier this morning, her eyes suddenly find the ceiling peculiarly interesting and continues to stare from a corner to the next for the next couple of seconds. This is it. The day she has imagined multiple times growing up. Today, when the rays of sun woke her up from her slumber, eyes fluttering open while she clears up the haze of a groggy mind, she knew she could never be more than ready for today. With a determined breath, she stood up. Legs a little shaky as she gets in position. 1, 2, 3. She smiles as she took her final step forward, eyes close shut as she begins to feel the pull from her legs as it travels up her body. In the state that she’s in, she has lost sense of everything. She tries her hardest to control her body hoping it will not trash around like a fish out of water. The needle of the clock continues to move even after she has stopped, hands limp by her side while her neck looks slightly crooked. She is still beautiful even after everything that used to define her beauty left her, her personality, her smile, her kindness. Even with the pattern of a braided rope engraved around her neck.

She did not get the prince.

…..


I did it! Writing more than 300 words was always a challenge but I did it! Took me two nights and morning to complete this and I (really) hope it’s not too bad. 

And yes, she died.

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There isn’t a title to this.

Disclaimer: To those uninterested in spending your time reading my attempt at ‘proper’ writing, please proceed to the end of this entry where I happily provide you with a direct summary of what this post should be about.

I’m forcing myself to write. Every word that comes out is deliberately squeezed out of my unwilling brain, fingers involuntarily pressing each key with much more force than necessary. A sudden pause. A rebellion of the mind as vocabularies are stopped from entering my consciousness leaving the tips of my calloused fingers hanging approximately an inch from the keys. I need to do this, I coax myself. Like the common phrase ‘there are things you don’t like that are good for you but you do not know’, this is one of them. But this time I know, I know that this is necessary, pivotal even for me to not have any regrets.

You see for once, I know what I want to do. Whether I can, whether it is even in my reach, we shall leave that to the higher hand to decide. But this desire to paint a picture without paint, to draw vivid imageries with only the monochromatic shades of white and black -although paper is now ‘buff’, not white and the black hue of ink is always debatable- is so potent in me it is beyond the angry, aggresive shade of red. It is the deepest, calmest shade of blue that should not be overlooked. It holds authority and is unambiguous. Never once does it flicker, remaining constant almost knowing that it will never be forgotten even if it’s ignored.

And I am not even close to revealing what it actually is but my heart has calmed in gratitude, a sigh of relief in between the never ending beats of life it drums every second. This is it, a story without a plot, just words thrown here and there with the aim to sound pretty in the heads of those who reads it -or to the ears if one prefers to read out loud-. This is what I’m good at, never finishing a well thought project, or rather focusing too much on the unnecessary that the centre which it’s supposed to be revolved around is lost. Please, view me as one who is intuitive rather than the true unorganised person that I constantly am.

An expected blankness blinds my usually adept thought process. It is often this way whenever I try to write conclusions because the only thing that truly matters from you reading this is not the temporal joy -or misery- this short entry brings but the message that I would like you to ponder on after the wasteful minutes you carelessly spend on me. If the writing does not last beyond the pages it lays stoically, the writer is not doing it right. And that is the thing about literature, it is the art of those who finds bliss in the darkness of their closed eye lids with letters and words -even non words sometimes- as their palette as they dance to the rhythm of their own voice silently echoing from the corners of the almost spherical mind. There is never really a right or wrong in literature but one.

It’s 1.30am and i’m sleepy but I pushed myself to write this post because I’ve been dreading to write something. I think after trying many things, I have decided that writing is what I’d like to do for a living (most probably as a side income because writing alone is not sufficient to sustain my material wants). And I didnt really get to explain that I just need to channel all my thoughts onto something. About the ending, well, I really did have nothing to say to sum up the whole post. Basically, this post is just fragments of thoughts that I pulled out from the train rounding my head. 

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This is not crazy, barely.

A loner.

The most frequent thought that passes through the minds of those passing her by.

It’s not, she thinks. Lonely, she means. It’s not lonely she tries to project through her smiles and the way she carries her self.

It’s quite the contrary. In her mind she could barely count the number of people who lives in the spaces she provides them. From the loud Margaret who’s always full of complains about life to the overly protective Ben. And depending on the circumstances, Haley makes an appearance, too afraid to speak her mind or even be seen.

It’s not lonely, not when you have a whole world living in your mind. Everyone is just incapable of seeing what she experiences, or feel or even start to comprehend this.

She shakes her head silently as Ben tries to stop Margaret from bugging Haley, while the rest of the room watches the scene that is unfolding. A million murmurs erupt.

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A relationship guru wannabe

I have a lot to say about relationships. But it’s difficult to make people take me seriously. Tell me, who would? A twenty-year-old girl who have never experienced anything outside her little bubble, the same person who is afraid at the idea of even meeting people. If she were to come and preach to me, I would roll my eyes (in my mind at least).

For example, I totally understand how people try to hate their exes or the people who have rejected them so that it’s easier to move on. Some even go to the extend of agreeing with the saying that if you can be friends with them, you still love them or you have never loved them in the first place. But it could be that you may have invested yourself less in the relationship relatively to other people making it easier to move on with your life. Personally for me, I refuse to let myself expect that a relationship is a given goal whenever you have feelings towards someone. The magnitude of my feelings towards a person wouldn’t affect how the other person feels, and I think many might forget that. In fact, we should decrease our expectation of the other person liking us back. Just lie back and be grateful that you are blessed with the ability to like or even love someone. It’s a pleasant ignorant bliss.

And shouldn’t relationships induce happiness? A friend told me that it’s worth going through rough times to be able to experience happy moments. Yes, but not till it becomes a rare occasion, as rare as a meteor shower. If one or both, of the parties are not happy, what is the point of being in a relationship? I’m not saying that it should be all roses and no thorns but there should just generally be more of the former than the latter. When the opposite happens, it’s wise to rethink the relationship.

Just my shallow, unexperienced two cents. Grab a coffee, look out the window and just enjoy the little things in life, like the ‘like’ the guy you fancy just gave you on instagram or the cyclist who just winked when he passed by.

image

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