Tuesday, May 27, 2008 20:30
You know, sometimes you may not know what people really think of you.
How often is it that we know not of the full story yet begin shooting indiscriminately? How often do we actually care about the degree of damage done following the shooting?
Most of us don't. We just shoot. And run.
And for those who are always within the vicinity to receive everything will find themselves, miraculously, immuned to every other shot because gradually, it grows to be just any other shot.
Initially there might be an urge to explain yourselves, to redeem yourselves, and to free yourselves from inaccurate accusations. So you try, so you fight, but sooner or later you'll learn, that any extra effort to defend yourself doesn't stop the shooting at all. And eventually, all that remains is just the big word APATHY again.
See? What you see isn't always what you get. But you won't see, because you're just too engrossed in your world.
I tried to understand. I even overturned my clock. Those who know me knows just how much I'd love to sleep. But somehow all that's just not enough. It's never enough.
I have tried, time and time again, to free my work from any discrepancies. I really tried. But it was always never apparent. And then all the image that's projected is a big time mistake-heck-care.
Since young I've been trying to prove. So I do what the Mathematicians do - prove. Prove the image deeply embedded in you, wrong. Yet I have grown sick, very sick. And then, I gave in. No point to prove anymore, because that wouldn't change the fact that I am still within the vicinity of indiscriminate shootings.
I wouldn't blame people for calling me childish, for just how long am I known to them? I wouldn't blame people for backstabbing me, because this is part of human evolution. So I shouldn't blame anyone, anything, for always, always kena shot at.
That is why I am running, running far.
Away from your assertions, away from your assumptions.
Monday, May 26, 2008 01:11
Someone should just slap me, slap me hard, for even thinking. For it an act of 'loserism' by all parameters I've laid to define it.
How should it be said - it was just way too familiar - the strings of thoughts, the kind of emotional upheaval, that kind of disappointment, and apathy. How does it feel, to be left alone at a cold, dark corner by that important someone just because his life is full of interesting happenings and you just end up insignificant? I understand just too much.
Sure, there's no more pain. Sure, there's no more hurt. But still, there is memory.
Honey, if you see this, be strong. Because I can't tell you to have faith, when my story has already ended in a tragedy. Yet I hope you can hold on, for one can see a bigger worth in the relationship you've cultivated with him in relation to my sad old story, which has now become an old skeleton in my closet I dread to be reminded of. There's still hope in your case, for one can see that he hasn't totally discarded your image in his heart.
Which brings me to ask, guys, what do you take women for? What do you take your girlfriends for? Some entertainment when your life is but uninteresting mundane? Things that can be disposed of after you've found more exciting toys to play with?
Respect your girlfriends! We are not receptionists, who are obliged to attend to your requests after you ring the bell; nor are we waitresses, whose duties are to appear when you need us, and disappear at a wave of your wrists!
On a totally unrelated note, I had a pleasant and delightful surprise at 2100hr today:)
Saturday, May 24, 2008 07:42
*Warning: Mature content and "controversial" arguments*
How many of you girls out there agree with me, that men who flash their little brothers at random women ought to be shot at their dicks?
If you disagree (which I don't think those of you who fell victim to flashers) with me, you are saying dignity of women should be compromised at the expense of men's outrageous display of their perverted sexual desires.
Then, I'll recommend you migrate to ancient China (or Japan or Korea, for that matter) and get a taste of unfair suppression of the presumed 'weaker' sex, where women then were none other than punchbags, plain superficial ego-boosters and sex toys.
Having said all that, yes, I met a flasher today. And I wish I had reacted more aptly than how I really reacted. But you can't blame me for being stunned at the sight of him - a flasher - before me, for this is my first time ma!
All I did was to AAAAAAAAARGHHHHHH, slammed the wooden door shut, and bolted every latch present. I did not even lock the metal door. Who knows if he will spring up to my door and barge into my house! And for one moment I found none of the strength to stand on my own two feet and so I sat behind the door, repressing my uncontrollable trembling.
What is wrong with society nowadays, I question. I mean, prostitution isn't so much of a taboo word, and pornography is no longer skeletons to be hidden securely in the closet. So why do men have to flash, when the mere act of flashing does not quench your desires like prostitution does? It's just unfathomable. How do flashers even get the idea of showing random women your cocks, as if they are of some patented designs you would be VERY proud of? Just think of your little brothers la, do you seriously think they are happy being dug out of your pants in a broad day light like this?
And hor, if you don't like having your dick inside your pants, then you might as well just castrate it la!
Eew. It's just yucks.
Lucky for me, Tom reached in a flash (of course, since he stays mere two streets away) and everything was back to normal again. And during our analysis of the disgusting encounter, we concluded that Lady Luck was by my side, despite kena flashed at, because anything worse could have happened from there, but the flasher chose to stand down there, and left after I slammed the door at his face.
In short, phew! Close shave.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008 10:22
In just the space of five days, things came one after another.
The inevitable came. Yet, I suppose most tears were shed when my grandma was still on her couch, barely breathing, than when she really left us for good. And there I fought, with all my might, to hold back tears that threatened to flood as a broken dam would. I just could not cry out loud in that house. Still, a tear or two trickled down my cheeks, for who would be strong enough to stay expressionless when there's continuous sobbing around?
The two nights that followed was none other than ceremonious. Everyone was busy running around getting things done - so were the kids, who ran around the house with gay. The atmosphere wasn't at all solemn, albeit a funeral service. In fact, it was more or less a family get-together session, a reunion session, a catching-up session. Cousins rushed back, relatives drove back; and some whom I have never met too! For a rough count, there were about 70 of us - children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Our family is so big, and some cousins and distant relatives are people I have not even met before. And thus, I thought to myself on the funeral day, that maybe some time in the past we might have walked past each other on the streets, yet not knowing we could be this related in blood and flesh.
Sigh.
And Chinese New Year 2009 will never be the same again. With the centre of gravity gone, will everyone still gel together like the old times?
Friday, May 16, 2008 11:01
A call came. What a call.
The voice over the other end was familiar. Was it because it was from someone I know, or was the familiarity felt because of the news that was to be told? The voice was solemn, and the message was clear. It is time for immediate action - before all is too late.
We are going home soon.
The drive is about 2-hour long. Two long hours - it could mean many, many things. It could be the wait in the transit terminal for a transit passenger for his next connecting flight. It was the length of my Chem Paper 2.
And now, 2 hours is the amount of uncertainty we have got to endure.
When I think back, just how many times have I seen her after I went to Singapore. Not even ten times a year. How many lines have I spoken to her? I don't even have any idea.
I just want to talk to her without her feeling so strained, without her frail frame shaking with her every attempt in speech. I just want her to breathe normally without feeling burdened. I just want, I just want, the grandmother I saw four years ago, back.
My grandma who ascended and descended the flight of stairs freely. My grandma who always cooks up fantastic dishes for kiddoes during reunion dinner. My grandma who, more often than not, find herself smiling widely at the bunch of grandchildren before her.
It's not fair. Was it not enough, the hardship she's gone through to raise her seven children? Why, do YOU have to impose on her such enduring time in her grand old age? Why, do YOU make her carry the burden of ills with her fragile and frail body? What has she done, to be the one taking the pains.
Do YOU hear me, YOU who claim to have looked after us from heaven. Too many kind and unassuming people around me suffered in undeserving ways.
I now ask of an answer.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008 01:41
The human heart is intriguing. It is one entity with the human brain, as with other organs in the human body, yet it usually separates itself from particularly the human brain when it comes to certain issues.
Issues that usually result in debates between the two organs. More often than not, the ears end up having some particularly difficult time deciding which is the lesser of two evils and listen to it.
The brain is technical. It calculates logics and probabilities, makes quick (often judgemental) conclusions based on information the five sensory neurones send. What we see, hear, touch, taste and smell - these are sufficient data to calculate the most logical of logics.
The heart is emotional. It does not calculate - it feels. The very working nature of this organ, being so subjective, makes it unreliable in decision-making, or so most of us think. For since there is no concrete evidence on which conclusions are made, they will not be persuasive, in technical terms.
I guess most people have taken the tumble for trusting their hearts, that they've then learnt the most valuable lesson of all - to trust the brain above all protests the heart makes. This makes the act of judging the book by its cover, justified. Because it's what the eyes see, what the ears hear, and conclusions made based on these data, are more likely to be true.
Then what's with the saying
there's more to it than it meets the eye? Less people appreciate that, because to see beyond the naked eye, is to see things with your heart.
What you see may not be exactly as what you think, yet what you think may just not be what you will see. What you ultimately say will depend on which one between the heart and the brain warrants your trust more.
So what's the karma, what's the deal? And why do I even care, if I am the perfect girl in your eyes? Odd as it seems, my heart did absorb every word, every sentence, even though my brain has long ejected from its memory database. And I am reacting to this unnecessary absorption by questioning my own integrity and my own character, and what ultimately defines me.
What goes around comes back around. Most people are judgemental. So am I.
I could be just getting the venom I spitted.
Oh, just why should I care. Yet, I (loserly) do.
The only consolation from such desolation that embraces me, is that
some people, just thismuch, see me with their hearts.
*If you think you know me, read my blog and think again.*
Sunday, May 11, 2008 23:01
Happy Mother's Day, moms.
You moms deserve to be queens on this day.
Yet my mother's day 2008 wasn't all that joyous and festive like the rest of yours.
For my mother's day 2008 opened my eyes to life's yet another harsh reality.
You may be the most glamourous, you may do the most astonishing of stunts now. Yet the next moment, you may find wrinkles crawling all over your face like vines would a tree, or just too frail and fragile that there's no better option than to be bed-ridden.
In preparation for such a celebration, I was slapped an unpleasant piece of news right at my face, just minutes after I arose from slumber.
My immune system was so up to the mark, that even I myself was amazed at the stunt I put up when I was in the High Dependency Unit. It was totally casual, nothing unusual. So was everybody. Maybe, maybe, good acting skills do run in the bloodline. Everybody was so assuring, despite the very, very limited things she could do, the barely, barely audible words she uttered.
There she lay, motionless on the bed when I entered the ward. The whole place was so uninviting - it's as if all life halted to a standstill, what's left was just remnants of everyone's struggle for another breath.
But there I was, being a perfect granddaughter as with my bro and sis. And I observed every twitch of her muscle, every movement her eyelids made. Everything spoke of fragility and helplessness.
As much as I've said I love surprises, I hate this kind of surprises, man. Such surprises always catch me offguard and such insecurity is suffocating.
And as I closed the door behind me, I shuddered at the fear that overwhelmed me for a second.
When is the next time I'm going to see her? And where will that be?
Wednesday, May 07, 2008 16:39
What does not kill me, makes me stronger.I always thought I'd die, yet somehow I always know it's just not the end, yet.
Somehow the cycle always repeats, regardless of its severity.
There was once a time I thought I'd just die flat in the exam hall, yet I managed to drag myself back to hostel.
There was once a time I thought I'd just pass out under the big sun, yet I managed to walk myself back to my room.
There was also a time I thought I'd start rolling down the stairs for my legs were jelly, yet I still managed to walk to the lecture theatre.
After some trying moments, I always manage to walk out feeling triumphant, for I have surmounted all pains for once more. And then I think to myself, God the Almighty blessed women with extraordinary tolerance.
Then again, I might have experienced the most severe, gone through the most numbing of pain, yet more often than not I find myself forgetting about all that kills after I surmounted the pain. This is not just THE kind of pain classified for women I'm referring to. I speak of pain in general - all that hurts, all that kills.
Once the hurt is gone, I resume where I left off, with zero recollection of what consumed me previously. That's what I always do - I always end up forgetting the pain, until it comes back around and torture me again.
Maybe I am really blessed with high pain tolerance. Or maybe it is just a severe case of selective amnesia. But whichever the case is, I'm truly glad that once again, I have risen from the dead.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008 12:43
In a few days' time, I can not say 'I don't know' no more. For in a few days' time, everything would present itself properly and orderly in front of me, and everything will be clear.
It will be clear, also, that it is the time to choose.
So it isn't so metaphorical after all, when they say "you are at the crossroads of your life", for you really are at one. The more fortunate and the more elite may find themselves in a big junction with even more paths to choose from. It's a blessing, most would say, for now doors are flung open, welcoming you with big and warm arms. And all you've gotta do, is pick one. So much better than the less fortunate, where there's only one road offered ahead, and the course of their lives are pretty much calculated for.
Yet, to make a choice out of the choices available, isn't an easy one. More not so, when your future and consequently, your life, is at stake. To take a path and forgo the rest - yet which path warrants your future?
I am standing at a T junction, with two paths to choose from. It is a turn I must make, but it is either a left, or a right turn this time. Both routes are opposites of each other, with nothing in common.
One of them would very much be a more familiar path, for I have walked similar path with more confidence in the past. But could this familiarity breed contempt, that is the question. Could it be the case that, after choosing this path, I end up feeling sick of the familiarity it offers?
The other would be a path I have never ventured, yet offers much that appeal to my interest. This is a path many have taken before me, and many even emerged iconic eventually. This path has much to promise, yet to really realize these promises, one has to outshine his companions. In short, the path brings with it stiff competitions - much of an elitist nature.
Both are equally appealling, though one may promise more than the other. Yet both have equal detriments, manifested in different mediums and appear in different forms. Which turn am I to make, when I'm standing right in the middle of this T junction now?
See? For those whose future is more or less calculated for, they can now shake their legs and enjoy life like never before, while those who are standing at the crossroads are killing their brain cells contemplating which course of life they are forgoing. It is a big decision, for the stakes are high. And for an extremely indecisive and easily-swayed individual like me, it is an even more enormous task, because for one, I certainly am not going to gamble away the rest of my life, and for two, I haven't decided on which the lesser between the two evils is.
So, turn left? Or turn right?
Thursday, May 01, 2008 10:23
A week is approaching its end - just the right time for the birth of a whole new month. May it is, everyone, May has come. And the world rejoiced at its grand arrival, for it brings with it a day which everyone can breathe properly without having to worry if the bosses regard their yawns as a means of procrastination.
In short, it's Labour Day, people. A day for labourers, a day labourers reign supreme.
Where art thou, my brothers and sisters, my eyes and ears, my fellow comrades who trudged through the past nineteen years (for goodness sake, NINETEEN!) by my side? Where are you people, to whom I'd love to share my day of liberation, however short it is, with?
And I look around, and I find only the vicious ants in the house.
Sarcastic enough, the only voice talking to me comes from that grey box with stereo speakers. And I could not even see his face for he has none.
"It's not over, try to do it right this time around. It's not over, but a part of me is dead and in the ground..." Chris Daughtry's voice boomed from that grey box and reverberated in the very hall I plant myself in. Well, maybe those little birdies are harmonizing with him.
Yeah, it's not over yet, my loneliness. How long, just how long, are you going to stick around me.
Tis the day of celebration, yet where are the faces I am celebrating with? That's right. In Ipoh, in Singapore, and even in Canada. And what am I doing here, being so far apart! They can't even hear my call, at all.
Happiness shared is happiness doubled. No phrase more true at this moment. Because my First of May 2008 is now but another mundane of the week.
