i'll set you up against the sky

A noose seemed to have found a permanent home around my neck. Like a snake that has found its prey, it keeps wounding itself tighter and tighter, constricting the air passage, suffocating me. 

It has come to the point where I need to remind myself to breathe; to inhale and exhale. In and out. I'm afraid that if I ever forget, the monsters lurking in the shadow will pounce and drown me in a sea of sorrow.

Without knowing when, I've morphed into a really good liar. One that can paint a smile and says I'm fine when I am not: haven't been for a while.

He advised me to just give it my best. But how do I go about achieving it? Is there any guidelines or manual book that I'm completely unaware of?

And most importantly, what if my best is not enough? What then?

Being told over and over again, by different people no less, that as long as I have given it my all, it is sufficient. When the truth is, it is not. I'm a greedy person; I will always want more, want better.

I know that he is afraid I might do something stupid. But what he doesn't know is that I'm too much of a coward to let everything go and yet too stubborn to just let it be.

'tis quite a quandary isn't it?

Inventing shadows

As a musician, you don’t come to L.A. to be comfortable. You come to L.A. to be uncomfortable, because that’s the most comfortable feeling in the world to us. — Meg F.

I'm not musically inclined (one reason being that I believe I'm tone deaf) but the words/quote/wise saying above somehow in one way or another reached out to me in an early sunday morning of five where I'm still struggling to prepare for my presentation.

These days, I find that I relate more to lyrics rather than carefully penned thoughts. 

It terrifies me when the realisation first dawned upon me. For so long, words have been my solace. Something that blankets me with security whenever my melancholy strikes. My anchor in this often unpredictable storm of life. So much so that when I found out that I've been veering more to songs rather than book, I had the knee-jerk reaction to try to justify it.

I travel so much that songs are inevitably my loyal companion to ward off unwanted conversations and lonely moments... I can't help it, these songs are good... What can I do? these underground singers are the bomb etc...

Like the five stages of grief - although I only went through denial - I eventually came to accept that music will herein onward become a vital part of who I am. That loving it doesn't mean that I'll have to forgo my love for all things writings and words because music is essentially made up of words too. That there is nothing illegal about loving both of them at the same time.

For those who love again after the loss of their other half to death, is this how they feel? That you can equally love two person at the same time, each with a different yet seismic impact on you. I never used to understand how one can love again if they were to lose their so called soul mates. That "Wouldn't moving on means a form of betrayal to the ones you proclaimed to love?"

But if this is any precursor to how they feel, then I think that, even if I can't wholly empathise with it, I will no longer judge them as harshly as I used to. And at the end of the day, that's what everyone is asking for isn't it; that you'll be given free reign to your actions without any judgment given in return?

At least, that is what I believe I'm seeking for in life. 

***

For those who have been expressing their concern for me over my last blogpost, I can only tell you that you have made me feel loved and cared for. Your advices were not only needed but gave me comfort in knowing that those gibberish thoughts of mine that I spewed in this domain are being read and noticed.

However, I felt that it's only right for me to clarify that I'm well over the competing-with-siblings phase that many of you thought I was in. My mood did not take a turn for the worse because I was comparing myself with my brother. I've long ago reached the conclusion that whereby he excels in all things history and memorising, I fare better in language and calculations and therefore the post wasn't about us.

I was in fact overwhelmed by the midterm examination that I had just taken prior to the publication of the post. I'm not eliminating the merit of what I said, only that the cause of it was greatly misunderstood by many of you, I presume.

Anyhow, the attempts to reach out to me are greatly appreciated although my cynical self was further consolidated when those who did are not who I thought they would be.

Still, much love to those who were concerned for me. xx

Who shot that arrow in your throat?

This over consuming anger that burn as bright as the sun needs to be stopped. I don't want to be this angry, bitter person who is constantly mad at the world.

Playing shoots and ladder

I cannot fathom how unbelievably chinese my brother is.

Yet when I think about it, I realized that I'm the least chinese one in the family so maybe I'm adopted. This calls for a whole lengthy blogpost to explain on the why but I find that I can't be bothered to do so, so some other day when I'm more in the mood perhaps.

Then again, I'm rarely in the mood to do anything nowadays so it might take a while.

I'm in danger of being dubbed as a social recluse as all I've been doing since the start of this semester break was to hole up in my room with my trusted lappy, hard drive, phone and books. Being in the age where many might say is the peak of my life I'm finding myself more and more disinclined to go out and socialize  A fact that I know for sure peers my age would frown and shake their heads on but then again why would one be bothered about one insignificant lil me.

To be honest, even I acknowledge the fact that yours truly behaves like an eighty years old woman who lives with her nineteen cats but I hate cats and if I do have to end up as a spinster I would choose to live with shelves and shelves of books rather than living beings as I am a misanthropist like that.

So, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by my wayward thoughts on how I hate the world, I've developed a slightly more than fanaticism towards my bedroom and wouldn't it be nice if I get to live in my bedroom for the rest of forever. I mean a four wall (although there's more than four walls in my room) sanctuary where I'm shielded from the proverbial cold, unforgiving and often scary world of reality. Of course I'd rather just stay in this comfortable haven of mine with my books to keep me company.

With that said, don't you agree that life would be a lot simpler if one do not need to eat, sleep, study, earn money, spend said money, stress on said spending and the cycle repeats. Wouldn't one be a lot more content if all we need in life is to read and breathe books? Wouldn't that be a very fictional life to live?

A make believe but what's wrong with a dose of play pretend because nothing bad ever happens to the protagonist or if it does everything will end in happily ever after. Isn't that what we all grow up believing in?

Truth to be told, I myself don't get what the purpose of this post is other than the need to pen down all the intermittent thoughts who have found it in themselves to bug the life out of me. Short thought provoking questions that have been weighing down on my sense of happiness and contentment but nothing worse than the drama that has been happening around me.

Or maybe this state of ambivalence of mine is brought on by the fact that Chinese New Year is less than a month away. Only god knows how much I hate this celebration, if this sorry excuse to spend a lengthy amount of time with the relatives who I've been gifted, or in this case cursed, with can be called a celebration.

And this is one of the reasons why I'm a travesty excuse of a chinese: I absolutely detest the one sacred celebration that normal chinese look forward to.

Don't get me wrong because I do love the angpau part. Which sane person who knows the worth of these bills wouldn't? I just hate the time that I have to spend on these unnecessary people. It would be bearable if I have a semblance of indifference towards them but I actually hate these people with fervour and passion so I absolutely abhor this celebration that screams of bright red colour and loud noisy music.

And for all of those politically correct dumbasses who would like to comment on how if I hate these people I should refrain from getting the monies from said relatives, I beg to differ. If I have to spend my precious time away from doing what I wanted to do and in its place spend it with people whom I dislike, these monies are just a small compensation.

Besides, money is everything in this dog eat dog world. If I don't take them it's not gonna prove any of my stances but would rather only illustrate on how stupid I am.

Yup I'm a hypocrite but when have I ever said that I'm not.

*

P.s:  Before any cat lovers hunt me down I would like to clarify that I don't exactly hate cats - not that I love them either - I was just elaborating my point. Although I've gotta say that I find animals way cuter when I don't have to take care of them, pet them and just ooh and aah-ing over their cuteness from afar, preferably behind a monitor screen. Tsk tsk tsk kids with technology these days /shakes head/

Once and for all

WARNING: HIGHLY LENGTHY & EMOTIONAL POST BELOW, READ AT YOUR OWN TIME AND EFFORT.

It's astounding how you of all people are the one who demean me in such snobbishly offhanded manner; the one who managed to make me feel so awful for doing something that I'm suppose to do. No, scratch that, for doing something which I shouldn't even need to do if only you had the sense to do it without me begging asking for it. I'm not going to be trite and perpetually harp on it so I'm only saying it once.

I'm not a fucking beggar.

In fact, I am financially independent for over a year now. I had ceased getting allowance from my folks ever since I started working at Celebrity Fitness January last year and even after I stopped working to pursue my tertiary education, I had never resumed the habit of asking money from them. I paid for my college and hostel fees through my scholarship and loan. I earned my allowance by working part time so you - and everyone else for that matter - have no bloody right to make me feel that way! 

Yes, it's true that nobody can hurt me without my permission, but Mohandas Gandhi had overlook an aspect when he quoted that; we human are especially vulnerable to those whom are the dearest to us. And often because they are the ones who are the closest to us and whom we assume would never intentionally or otherwise hurt us, we let our guards down and freely gave them consent forms to screw with our feelings and emotions as they like.

So here's the verdict: If and when we (this apply to everyone) ever go out together, whether it's for a meal, a movie or a trip and I so happen to foot for the bill first, please kindly just reimburse the money to me without me begging asking a millionth time for it. Just try to put yourself in my shoe for a minute, can you. Do you like to continuously remind people to pay up for the meal/movie/trip? Particularly when the one in question is someone who is close to you. It's not a pleasant feeling, no?

Personally, I hate begging asking for money that one should have had the common sense to give it to me without waiting for me to beg ask for it. Besides, I'm sure no one likes to be incessantly hounded by others to pay up too. So be mature and sensible about this and pay back as soon as you can and not when your highness feels like it or when you are being chased after for it. I get it if you have bad memory and you forgot about it but when you're reminded the first time around then just pay it back then, don't wait.

What are you waiting for anyway? For the sky to drop down a wad of cash? Or for cats to grow horns?

I absolutely abhor being hounded to pay up when I'm having a good time. So I always, always, pay back the minute after someone else paid for the bill. If due to any circumstances that I cannot do so, then I pay back asap and usually before said someone asks me for it. Is it too much to ask to be treated the same way? It's a simple request that I'm pretty sure can be carry out easily. So why then must I ask you for a gazillion time and even when you finally decided to pay up you must show me your bitch face? Is it wrong of me to ask for the money which you are supposed to pay me back in the first place? 

To you, you might think that that few dollars is not an adequate amount of money for me to start hounding you like I did. Well newsflash, I'm not like you. I don't have parents who give me money for everything. I do not have the privilege of sitting idly by and wait for hand outs. I wasn't brought up that way and neither would I want to do so too. Even when I was a kid, my folks don't just give me things because I asked for it. I have to earn what I want  either financially or through academic wise.

So yes, every penny counts for me.

If you have never had to work for anything in your life then you will never understand what I'm saying, and it will be too much of an effort for me to get it through that thick skull of yours so I'm not even going to bother to try. All I have is one bloody simple request and it will be highly appreciated if it is adhere to: Pay up when you're suppose to without waiting for me to beg ask you for a gazillion times like a beggar because I ain't one and am never going to be one.

Sleeping beauty mayhap?

I sleep.

That's my coping mechanism during exam period. That is what I do when I'm too stressed out of striving for that lil bit more of perfection yet unable to just let it go. I sleep so that I don't have to be awake when my conscience kick in and hammers me with the millions of "No study, no 4.00 gpa." I sleep so that I wouldn't be consciously worrying about how my procrastination habit will ruin my attempt at finally scoring what I really need. And I sleep so that I will block out the clock in the back of my mind that is ticking away precious time.

That is just one of the nuances that made up who I am.

I still remember I struggled so very hard during secondary five. It's not with the subjects that I wage my battle with for it's often than not that I declared war with myself. For it is I and not others that often pushed myself away. During that time, I couldn't cope with the expectation that I was piling high up onto myself. I couldn't come to terms that it's okay if I don't make it and so I ran. The nearer it was to SPM, the farther I ran. When people around me were busy doing revisions on the eleventh hour, I was still reclining in my dreamland telling myself that "It's OK! I still have time."

When time is indeed the only thing that I'm running out of.

Finally, when I really got on to the fact that I don't have time anymore, I went full on panic mode. And sadly to say, I gave up. I gave up because it was easier to do so than keep on fighting. I let go of my goals because I had lost hope; an essence which had been seeping off me at every moment that I closed my eyes and drift off the stress-free land called dream.

However, if sleeping as a coping mechanism is a part of me than scoring infinitely better from the product of very-last-minute revision is another parcel of me too. Despite what others may say about how last-minute revision should be prevented at best and avoided at worse, it works fine with me. Maybe it's the adrenaline rush that is coursing through me when I only really study - at best - few hours before the paper. Or maybe it is finally the realization that time is indeed running out. Whichever it is, I find myself to score better when I procrastinate till the very last minute, be it exams or assignments.

Despite what I am perspicuously insinuating here, this is not a habit of mine that I'm particularly proud of. The reason is simple. Because I might not get that lucky every single time. Nobody can score a high distinction on every single paper that he or she studied only hours before the exam commencement. Nobody is that lucky for the universe is just not that kind.

And because of that simple reasoning itself,  I shall endeavour to buck up my result this time by not waiting till three hours before the exam to only start studying. But I will still continue to sleep if only so that I will forget all about my self induced stress even if it's an hour too many of superfluous sleep.

If I could, I would.

You know you're almost whole again when instead of wanting to escape life, you just wanna live it.

You know I dream in colour

When you're at the top of the world, there's nowhere to go but down. 

Does it mean that I'm only going to go down from here on?

No more fancy words to disguise my disappointment because at the end of the day, all I can see, feel and think is how much of disappointment I am.

Our memories aren't that reliable.

i deactivated my facebook account last thursday.

why?

because i feel trapped. trapped in a circular cage where i have no corner to hide from the tentacles of my past that is enshrouding me in a cloud of misery. i feel suffocated whenever i log into facebook and the disdain and contempt that sprout from me were inevitable and bordering from unhealthiness onto insanity that it is the best for everyone if i just deactivate it.

i was going through my high school yearbooks last night and i felt numb; emotionless. looking through the pictures of where and whom i spent the five years of my life in and i felt nothing. not that i was surprised by my emotions or the lack of it because that's just who i am — i have problem attaching myself to anything/anyone but that is another post for another time.

i never stick to anything or anyone long enough for me to develop feelings or the want of attachment to them but for a few rare cases in which i was sorely disappointed. i never missed anything from my past and i can assure you that there's ton of things there that others would have deem them worthy of reminiscing about but not me because i move on from people/places/things faster than you can blink an eye.

i'm a cold hearted bitch not because i have no feelings but because i feel too much.

and hence keeping my facebook account alive is like tying myself back to my past with chains and locks and then throwing away the keys. they say that life is like a book where each chapter is a phase in your life which will bound to happen and which will also eventually end. facebook is a phase that i have long overgrown from and yet never ended because i left the pages open and i felt that it's finally time for me to move on from that phase and so i deactivated it. i couldn't bring myself to delete the account because of the pictures that are in it but it's going to be eon before you see me activating it again.

the two links

george carlin once quoted that inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist and now sitting here, at nearly 3am in the morning, typing this entry i wonder if this idealist is me? had i been so severely disappointed by life that it had jaded my views on it? or did my virgo instinct compounded by my perfectionist nature and mercurial attitude kick in during inopportune time to mold me into this person who is constantly critical of the motives of others? the reason behind this post is that i've just watched chris medina's audition for ai (its more than a tad too late) and read about xiaxue's love story (also about two years too late) and pondered about being too cynical in my views of life and love. both scenarios portray love story that are too good to be true — stories that one might have thought that they were being fabricated from one of disney's many fairytales, easily found in fictions but never in reality.

one is of a guy who stood by his fiancee through thick and thin and till death do us part; a guy who choose to sticks around with his fiancee who suffered from traumatic brain injury, miraculously survive and yet stands a slim chance of being who she was before instead of fleeing at the earliest chance to find the next love of his life; a guy who some says define what love really is. and the latter is of a guy who risks everything he has to travel and finally settles down across the globe for a girl whom he stumbled upon on the net. i'm not going to lie and say that these stories do not touch me because if it don't then there wouldnt be this post at all but neither am i going to make a big confession and proclaim that they changed my cynical view that this world is not monochrome but filled with rainbow colours of joy because it didn't.

because seriously how many people out there, notwithstanding genders, are willing to do what these two people did? how many so-called 'true love' out there can still actually stand strong in spite of the inevitable hardships, obstacles, difficulties and such? : not many.

truth to be told, i'm still a lil too bemused to sort through the jumble of emotions and thoughts of mine to search for the real reason behind this post, but through the sleepiness that's fogging through my brain and my eyelids that are threatening to shut down any time soon, one reason that i can only think of now is that this post is solely for my own benefit for who knows maybe ten/twenty years from now this post can be use to either support or refute my cynical sentiments.

To begin again

to be endow with the sense of mercurial is a curse because you will never be content; not because you don't want to but because everything in you changes so often that your sense of contentment will never lasts; your feeling of happiness and belonging alter so quickly that you're so often left with a feeling of void that you're constantly searching for something that's always elusive to you; something that will perpetually be slipping from your grip time after time.

Five minutes

And so there I was, sitting on an old worn chair in the bank clutching my bag in one hand while fervently turning the pages of my book of the moment when suddenly someone clutches my right hand and commanded my attention. I figured she is in her sixties; with her wrinkled face, almost-white hair and freckles sprinkled all over her hand and face.

I plastered a smile on my face and answered her questions as accurately as I could in my broken cantonese and being the elderly that she is, she continued to ramble on and on to me about her husband who was scouring for an empty parking space outside and how the parking space there are always congested, I agreed with her and gave her an appropriate reply although it was my first time in that area

After giving her a few more appropriate responses to her monologue she fell quiet beside me, waiting for the husband of hers. Albeit already being given the permission to go back to my book by her silent consent I did not do so for she had managed to arrest my attention so I studied her instead. It was then that I realized that she had the same hair as her - the short perm hair and though she was a tad bigger in size and does not smelled of the heavy-flowery perfume that she usually adorned, I'm reminded of her.

How long has it been now? Four months? Five months?

Somehow I've lost count of the days that she has been gone from our life. It is distressing to say this but life has move on without her. And this sadden me the most; how life does not stop for anyone. How one person who used to mean so much to you - and still does- can be so easily forgotten in the midst of going through everyday life. How once you stop being real - flesh and blood- you're deemed to be non-existent albeit being solidly carved into the memory tablet.

Thus, I stifled the urge to move across the room to look for that friend of mine and relish the moment of sitting beside this old lady. She might be a poor substitute for her but for a moment or two there I almost forgot that she wasn't in our life anymore. For that short five minutes, by some means, I had managed to convince myself that the lady sitting beside me is indeed her.

I'm not saying that I miss her so terribly that I broke into tears right then and there because I didn't. I'm not saying that I would give anything to have her back because I have finally accepted the fact that she's better over there than staying here and suffer from her stroke.

All I'm saying is that for that five minutes, I was content beyond reasons.

And when I leave the bank a whole twenty minutes later after helping the said old lady in her transaction, mainly because of the language barrier between her and the banker, for once in many many long and depressing months I felt that the world isn't that bad after all

In the space between yes and no

maybe it'll only be a tiny step at a time, however, a tiny step forward is much more desired than staying rooted on the place pondering of the past and eventually and inevitably taking huge leap after leap backwards. maybe i'm not good and i'll never be anything other than an amateur and cliche writer but i know that despite my melancholic nature i'll regret it if i don't even attempt to try so i will; i will write even if it's nothing but rubbish. i will write even if it's hugely criticized and i will write because thats just who i am and who i want to be.

Stop and Start

it's sad to realize this and even more pathetic to say it but then its nothing but the truth. i've been wallowing in self-pity a lot for the past few months (years even!) and i'm just tired. tired of looking down on myself. tired of criticizing myself and i guess its just time for me to stop doing so and start appreciating who i am and what i'm capable of.

When everything's made to be broken

It is during moments like this when I realize how inept I am in my writing. Moments when my breath is caught at how beautiful some words are crafted by one. Moments when I pondered how can one express their thoughts so exquisitely? Moments when I just loathe myself for my inability to write like them.

Atychiphobia

CGPA : 3.9375

"You are pretty harsh on yourself. Do you know that?" she was told. It was a statement more of a question and the many retorts that were instantly sprung within her died upon reaching her lips and was instead replaced by a infinitesimal nod of her head. She knew she should deny it vehemently but by doing so she would be lying outright to that one person who had managed to see through her and no matter how much she wanted to she knew she couldn't do it. She wanted to explain it but she knew she couldn't find the right words to do so and so she sat there numbly and stared back at that one person who had managed to unravel what she had kept deep and dark inside of her for so many long and lonely years.

She always knew that she's harder on herself more than anyone else. She couldn't explain why she wanted everything to be perfect because for as long as she knows that's just how things should be. She couldn't tell people that she's not satisfied with her results just because it's tainted by that one A- for she knew that by doing so, one would deemed her to be cocky and will put her entire action as a parade to fish for compliments. However, that's not how the thing is for her. For she really felt that her results is just not perfect enough. She couldn't tell them that for the very same reason why she couldn't understand why she is such a perfectionist herself; why she just have to wrap all her books impeccably before stamping them with her name; why she is only willing to draw a line with a ruler and not without it; why she's such a frigid person who yearns for a change and yet unwilling to take drastic measure.

It's not a want for her but rather it's a need. A need to do everything perfectly because everything else just isn't and so with a voice that seemed rather shaky, she replied as calmly as she could, "Because that's the only way I can cope."

http://moac-me.blogspot.com/2011/08/melancholic.html

If I could only find a note to make you understand

But life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel of gaiety of 'parties' with no purpose , despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last, you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.

— Sylvia Plath

And here she goes again

I amaze myself at how easily i fall apart these days. How easily I hurt myself by trusting and caring for people who I deemed to be my friends.

Melancholic

The Melancholic mind has a Motive derived from 'perfection'; they are idealists, and wish for everything to be a certain way. This leads to emergent traits such as self-deprecation - they can't live up to their standards; analysis and learning - in order to understand, to know, because to be ignorant is to be lacking; being critical - since others don't live up to their standards; stubborness - a trait shared with the choleric, but due to a differnent 'motive'; they are tenacious and cannot let things go because 'good enough' is not good enough, and perfection is a desirable outcome.

Their generally dour demeanour comes about as this inner struggle between an imperfect world and a desire for perfection, and their introversion comes about similarly; they don't feel that they are worthy so seeking out others with confidence is difficult. They may also feel that others do not interest them sufficiently since they don't meet their too-high standards.

In a primitive pack, they may have been the 'analyst'; the one who surveyed, gathered data, and so on; a middle rank. Their analysis was important for survival, and the more accurate it is, the better the chances of that survival; hence the perfectionism developing.

Melancholics are introverted pessimists. They prefer to spend their time alone, deep in thought. They tend to be inventors, scientists, artists, and the like.

They are very sensitive and emotional people. Criticism hurts them a lot, and they spend a lot of time being very moody... but they are the types to go and sob in a corner to themselves rather than scream in anger at anyone.

They tend to have unrealistically high expectations and standards. Things must be RIGHT according to their own personal idea of what's right; this leads to them arguing almost as much as cholerics would, but for different reasons. The choleric may argue to assert his superiority, but the melancholic would argue to 'set wrongs right'.

They are tenacious, and cannot leave alone things that they find to be wrong; they 'refuse to drop it' or 'let it go'. This can lead to intolerance and even more arguing.

Due to their absurdly high standards, they find themselves failing to meet them and this leads to self-deprecation. They are loth to push themselves forward or brag about themselves, even if they are particularly skilled.

They are analytical and seek to understand things thoroughly; this, along with most of their time spent alone rather than having fun with others, is what leads them to becoming scientific or artistic.

They ask specific questions and crave detailed answers. Knowledge, information, understanding... these things are all deeply important to them.

They can be difficult to know, as they do get moody, jealous, and so on... but they realise their own faults. They hate others, but hate themselves as well.

Melancholics are perfectionists. Often, things are a 'perfect or nothing' affair; if they can't do something impeccably, then they often won't do it at all. Due to their low opinion of themselves, this often leads to them not doing things because they feel they'll only fail.

They are known to complain all the time about nearly everything, but these complaints tend to be directed at 'things in general' rather than criticism of a specific person. "My legs hurt! The sky's too bright! I don't like the look of those houses! Politics are annoying! I don't like things!"

They tend to judge people quickly and in detail, assessing the nature of a person from their clothing, their mannerisms, just the look of them... They make up their mind about people quickly from what they observe briefly, and it's hard to change this first impression

déplacement sur ​​les

i've spent some time thinking about you today and i came to the conclusion that you're definitely someone i want and need in my life but that doesn't necessarily mean you will so im letting myself go from this tangle of mess and instead focus on something that i can get when i try hard enough.