I Fold and Unfold

December 31,2011

2011 is the year that went by so fast, maybe a little too fast. It's the year your so called friend walks out of your life, and it's the year you realise who the real ones are. It's the year you felt the most pressure to the point where you gave up so many times but you're still learning how to get back up. It's the year you said you were going to accomplish great things yet you felt like you just wasted time. It's the year you cried over too many pointless things, too many times. It's the year look back on all the lifetime memories in which you find yourself missing the people in them. But it's also the year you move on, slowly, and you realize that it's okay.

Couldn't have said it better, Brett. Now you should either marry me or become my gay best friend.

Ruptured Rapture

I'm afraid. Fearful, not fearless. What if you hated me? Please don't. I'm incoherent and irrational. Jumbled thoughts, all of them inappropriate. All around its festivities: laughter, food and smiles, but inside me a storm is raging. I'm conflicted. Sad. Depressed. Insecure. Pressed for time. Immobile. Helpless. Hopeless.
What if I'm not good enough? This feeling has been  invading my peace for months. I don't even know which direction my writing is supposed to head. I'm slurring my words, stumbling over what I want to say. I do know what I want to pen down, its just that my pen can't move fast enough. And by the time I reach where I want to be, the idea doesn't seem as perfect as when it was first conceived. Just empty rusted tins that crackle in the wind.
Why the hell did you go and break the streak? I mean, who does that? No one breaks the streak. No one. Now we have to start all over again. If there even is a such a thing as an all over again. Why are things unraveling so fast? Like pulling at a thread from your favorite sweater only to realize that its falling apart and in the end all you have is one big pile of yarn at your feet. I hate it. I hate everything. I'm whining again. That's what happens to me when I'm depressed. Feel like I'm being wedged in a corner and discriminated against by the entire universe. I know for a fact that the universe has nothing against me. Everything I'm running away from is in my head. There's no way of escaping them. Facing them is no valid option right now, so I'll try my best to sweep them under the carpet to be dealt with at a later date.
This no way to live. I'm letting my life pass me by as I grapple with invisible and non-existent threats.
Run. Run as fast and as hard as I can. Away from this place. Away from all of this. Why is it so hard for me to feel normal? I don't remember even being remotely content in these past few months.
Help me, please. Throw me a lifeline. Somebody, anybody.
Ray, bloody hell, dammit! I miss you, need you now and in dire desperation for a hug.
What are you so afraid of? Tell me, tell me, tell me.
I hate the fact that I bought the dream when they sold me one.

What Kind of Fuckery Is This?

It's that time of the year again. The one thing everybody is talking about. New Years. Personally, I don't see what the fuss is about. It's just another day, like any other ordinary-mundane-unexciting day. The euphoria won't last, for crying out loud. Just because tonight you have a good time and get completely wasted, doesn't mean tomorrow you won't wake up whining about your stupid hangover which you and all your wisdom caused in the first place. The rest of the year is going to be filled with happy days, sad days, sunny and rainy. Not always butterflies, rainbows and unicorns. Let's face it, a new year simply means that maybe you grew up a little, learned something from the mistakes you've made, decide that maybe this coming year you'll do things differently and now you'll be celebrating yet another birthday because after 365 days, it's only logical that you become a year older.
A new year is merely tearing off the last page of the current year's calendar. This would also be the time when we all sit down and come up with nonsensical things conjured with the help of our imaginations, fondly called 'resolutions'. Why do we even bother making this stuff up, when deep down we know we don't intend whatsoever in fulfilling them? Don't bother, seriously. Wait, what is that I hear? You want to lose weight in the coming year? Roflol. You couldn't identify a treadmill even if it was sent to your front door, unwrapped and labelled for you. I know I'm mean. And yes, I'll have the last laugh too. Mean people get to do that sometimes. And all throughout the time you'll be 'making good' on your resolutions, I'd be right next to you laughing my guts out.
I shouldn't be so cynical. 2011 has been a whirlwind of every possible thing. All the events that took place; the people I met and those I lost, the emotions that coursed through me which I never knew possible, the ups and countless downs, friends made my year bearable, new info harvested for my measly store of knowledge, crushed hopes and expectations, and ultimately, the invaluability of it all.
This year was rogue, totally out of my control. It forced a whole bunch of bitter pills down my throat and made me wait and watch while life unfolded. Given the chance, maybe I wouldn't have changed anything after all. The heartache, the tears, the broken dreams, I'd do it all again so that I won't forget how much pain it caused me and that I wouldn't be foolhardy enough to let those things kick me around for a second time.
Out of all the lessons this year has taught me, the most prominent amongst the lot regards the heart. I learned that it is a fickle-minded being. And it is not to be blamed. Never to be blamed for its short-comings. The Arabs have so aptly named it qalb, which means change. It is no big wonder then as to why I feel on top of the world in one moment and completely suicidal in the blink of an eye. Being emotionally shattered and letting myself hope and smile again in the expense of someone else, all within the span of a short time. That explained a lot. Next time I won't be so fast to run my mouth.
Follow the omens. Study the signs. Listen, watch and most importantly: be patient. If it's meant to be, it will be. Have faith. Hope. Dance in the rain. Eat ice cream. Smile at strangers. Read fiction. Squeal when you see a cute guy.
Note to self: be happy.
I'm hopeful that 2012 will be a lot less stubborn that its predecessor. I hope that it will be filled with more hits for me than misses. 2012 has to play nice. Well, if not, I would have no choice but to lock it up in a dank cell and feed it through a hole in the door until it loves me back.

You're Just a Line in a Song

Hope
Dangles on a string
Like slow-spinning redemption

I was ready to be depressed 'til the 6th of February. And when that given date came, I figured that only then would I hit the panic button. Or the ultra-depressed one. Which ever seemed appropriate.
Over-thinking is like a natural-born talent of mine. I do it oh-so-effortlessly that most of the time I am able to manifest my phantasms in the form of dreams. I should stop bothering to wonder why I feel so deprived of sleep. The answer is already grinning like a rabid dog before my eyes, prancing around stark naked in front of me, trying to gain my attention as I try my best not to be swayed. It's a hopeless battle, one that I know I won't win even if I tried to move mountains.
I suppose I could have squeezed my eyes shut, gritted my teeth and prayed that it would be as painless as possible and that I'd still have a chance of coming out alive. But I guess that every now and then the best things come for those who wait for it.
I can't even describe what transpired. The memory is all there, it's just that whenever I think about it, my heart beats like it's fit to burst in the cavity of my chest, my tummy gets all tingly, a rush of blood surges to my head and I realize that I'm smiling like a maniac all at once. Oh yeah, and I also lose the ability to sit still. Wow. I miss being an idiot.
Out of all the things that took place over the span of fourteen weeks, I never could have asked for a better end. That smile was totally worth it. I hope I get to see you again. It'll be such a crying shame if you liked someone else. Please don't.
You know that feeling, when you feel hopeless but hopeful at the same time? A fine line separates the two and you don't really know which is which. They're intertwined, intermingled; and all you know is that you feel like crying but you don't really know the reason. Is it because you're sad? Or is it because you're happy?
Funny thing is, the one thing I remember quite clearly is the curve of your back in that blue shirt I've come to adore so, so much.

And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make it kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days

The Science of Sarcasm

I'm grateful for being blessed with a sense of humor, meagre and inadequate as it is. Life is as bad as it comes, without it I sincerely wouldn't know how I'd get by. Cheap thrills are sweet while they last.
I knew it from the very beginning, but I was just too proud to acknowledge what they were verbally trying to make me see. Ego aside, it's about time I fessed up.

Oh, Gwen. You made me laugh so hard listening to you on my drive home. The other drivers probably thought I'd lost my marbles. Oh well.

Third Time's the Charm

I won't fall in love the same way I did the first time, 
but I will fall in love again. 

Hello, worthless.

One year on, she stares at the mirror of her dressing table, taking in the reflection staring back at her. Getting lost in the depths of her brown eyes, she knows she's grown up a great deal. She knows that somehow she's not the same person she used to be. Was it for the better? Or for worse? She couldn't tell. The lines that defined her face, they've increased too. Pimples that have made her once smooth skin their temporary residence. The bags under her eyes that never quite go away, no matter how many hours she clocks sleeping. The mess of black curls that on most days seems to have a mind of their own. Her nose, never quite satisfactory in shape, but she'd learn to live with it. Her dimpled chin protruding from her sharp jaw-line. She'd always liked that feature. She likes the fact that every time her fingers stray to her chin, she would be able run her forefinger down the middle.
The sunlight catches her eyes and she squints momentarily, still staring at the mirror. Her eye color was beautiful, different. Just like the rest of her family, it was subtly distinct. Her eyes travel down the length of her arms that were resting on the dresser. Skinny. She almost looked malnourished. Her lips curl upward in slight amusement. Waist-down was a whole different scenario, she though ironically.
She notices her smile. A feeble attempt but a smile nonetheless. Pathetic. Broken. It reflected what she was feeling on the inside. For months now she had been dogged by this unexplainable emptiness, like she'll never know the feeling of happiness again. It was a sad thought, to not be able to embrace something you once knew so well, even if it was for a short period of time. Life was beating her with remarkable forcefulness and she knew she was wounded and bleeding. The life force flowing through her veins wasn't as pure and raw as it was before. Not long ago it felt like a dam had broken inside of her, full of joy and hope. Now, it felt like a trickling stream making its way through a forest, barely there, just holding on. Life had brought her to her knees. It was a shame, to feel like this, to admit defeat. She was still so young. A whole world to be explored and new things to be discovered. Was there a possibilty that that could be jeopardised? She honestly didn't know the answer to that question. She was a brilliant girl, it would be heartbreaking to live a life without accomplishing anything significant.
At times like these she realizes that there were not many people she could depend on. The people who have the gall to call themselves her friends were not really friends if they couldn't be there for her when she needed them the most. Then there were those who blatantly laugh in her face when she tries to tell them about her fears. She knows, they can't relate to what she feels, but all she wants was to be heard. That was all she was asking for. Sometimes they pretend to be deaf, just to block her out. They think she's faking it, that she'll be fine. She feels scared and her fears are very real to her. It was like drowning in ice cold water. Her whole body feels numb but she's still trying to keep her head up from going under, feeling the oxygen being physically squeezed from her lungs, thrashing frantically while others take seats by the water's edge to see how long until she succumbs.
She was a good actress, or she would like to believe so. She didn't know if other people could tell that her back was breaking from the heavy heart she was carrying  around in her chest. Looking back, she thinks she's got it down to a science: laughing at jokes, poking fun at others, paying attention when required, saying what needs to be heard. But happiness was fleeting and illusive. In the palms of her hands in one moment, gone like vapor in the next. Recognizing that as a fact inherent in her life, it was depressing. She needed an anchor of comfort and finding that said anchor wasn't going to be a walk in the park.
She wishes for many things. Many, many things. She feels little, insignificant and fragile; shreddable by a gust of wind. She's tried, time and again to find an ounce of edible comfort by telling herself that this feeling won't be a permanent feature in her life, that there will be days that she would be dancing in the rain with a genuine smile on her face, laughing out loud, not bothering herself with the troubles of the world. When will those days that she spends hours dreaming about finally materialize?
Only two things were definitive to her. When she grows up, she wants to be happy and she doesn't want to be alone. A fairly simple ideology. Execution would prove to be tricky and she could already feel it in her bones. But she would die trying, she promised herself. If everyone else could have happy endings, why not she? What was it that didn't qualify her to have the same outcome? The principle of equality would not deprive her of her rights.
Re-establishing her focus on the mirror in front of her, she looks herself up and down. Not beautiful, not attractive, not anything. Nothing significant. She leans forward to get a closer look at her self. She remains in that position for a few moments longer, until she accepts that there's nothing she could really do about it.
Last year, at this moment in time, things were different. Probably not better, just different. Pulling away from the reflective glass, she thinks to herself, "Will this matter a year from today?"

Brewed Beauty

You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Rosemarie Urquico (via hustle-rose)

Papercuts

I can't tell the difference anymore. Between my dreams and reality; what's real and what's not. It's scary, to wake up from my stupor and not knowing wether what just flashed in front of my eyes was concocted by my over-achieving imagination or the real deal.
I can't take it. The never-ending workload, the pressure that doggedly follows me everywhere. Sucks. I sincerely hope my marks make up for all the crap I'm going through. And most importantly, I don't want to repeat any of the wretched subjects for a second time. I'd rather shoot myself in the face.
The dreaded pre-reg has come and gone. Lo and behold, the number of subjects I managed to register is no where near what I spent so many hours fantasizing about. Real life sucks big time. No kidding. Next step, repeating the whole dreaded process of manually registering for my subjects. Like old times. Just the thought of it is making my state of mind border on suicidal. Urgh.
Look lively. Tomorrow's Monday. Monday is History. History is joy. (Or so I hope.)

Please let it be a case of mistaken identity. Please.

Hellogoodbye

If I had a way to see this straight, I'd run away. 

Sniffles and Sneakers

So I found out that it's normal to feel broken sometimes. But like I said, sometimes, not all the damn time. Confession: I feel down most of the time, and I may or may not show it, either intentionally or otherwise.  Then there's this faint ray of light that bravely cuts through the storm and the rain clouds, giving me fresh hope and a rationed dose of happiness. And these moments have a nasty habit of being short-lived. Then back I go, lost at sea, rendered helpless on my little dinghy, being mercilessly beaten and tossed around by the waves of my insecurities, darkness and despair.
What happened to me? At what point in life did I lose myself? Okay so my life isn't totally spiralling out of control, it's just that I don't feel anchored. There's not one exact thing that I can hold on to, to know deep down that when I need it, it'll be there for me. Well, maybe not a something; a someone. Logically, a thing wouldn't be of much use since it's lifeless and all.
I need a someone to hold me by the arms and sit me down when I go crazy. To look me in the eye and know just what to say to calm me down, to reassure me that everything is going to be alright and that this shit pile in front of me isn't so big after all.
And after slight deliberation, I've come to a conclusion that there is no such thing as good grief. The person who coined the term must have been a real moron. Yes, it would be either that or his permanent address is in Lala-Land. That would explain a lot. I mean, think about it. No one is happy when they're sad. Maybe my theory isn't universal and can't be applied all the time, given. But almost all the time it would fit the situation. There's only bad grief, come to think of it. Say and think whatever, it doesn't change the fact that it's true.
At least one thing went right today. Norshahrul's picture came out in the newspaper, kissing his awards. *melts* Supermokh sial! Gomo, Kelate, gomo!
I want to start over. A new name, new address, new identity, new life.
Good God, I need to be rescued.  :(