Tuesday, January 31, 2006
My New Year's Resolution
It was actually to not put things off.
But no matter, I have a new one! (And its only a month late, so technically the previous one still stands).
My SINGLE, SOLITARY new years rezzie is to be more confident.
Yes, in case you're wondering, this IS still me and no one's hacked into my account.
I mean, me wanting to be MORE confident is like a polar bear wanting to be whiter.....isn't it?
Things aren't all they're cranked up to be, you know.
At the end of the day, a polar bear is only white because its transparent hairs reflect light.
And at the end of the day, if I really think about it, I only appear confident because it bounces off my pride.
Pride, Confidence and Dignity are three big ass terms that are thrown around and usually seen as interchangeable.
Wrong again, my friend.
Of these three, Pride is the biggest liar.
The difference, you ask?
You see, you can have a lot of pride, and with pride, comes fake confidence. It's like this veneer, like those false walls that are put up to show the world you ARE happy with yourself, goddamnit! That fake confidence only stands because diffidence is seen as a negative quality and god forbid your pride let you be seen as weak. Inferior. Spineless.
I think that would be the best description of me that I've EVER written in my life. The fact is, that I'm loud and proud to be loud, and all that jazz.....but......
The only reason I look so confident and allow myself to believe that I am is because of my pride. The deadly sin that I redefined.
But if I was SOO damn pleased with myself, I wouldn't be so obsessed with......everything.
My non-weight problem. The results that I was SURE would sour. The fact that whoever it was I was talking to just now has a bad opinion of me and will never want to EVER be my friend again. My second guessing of every single scenario, conversation, whatever, that I've had, replaying, pausing, editing and then setting it happily back on the shelf.
The one good side to all of this is it has made me a planner. Because I keep replaying incidents in my rather dysfunctional mind, I can plot moves, strategies and damage control very easily.
The downside is it makes me a worrier. Someone who's constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing, appearing the LEAST bit incompetent, unintelligent or incapable. Someone who, when she loses something or someone or ANYTHING, blames herself first and foremost.
I am going to LEARN to stop doing that. Because at the end of the day, my friend...
The great difference between Pride and Confidence is the ability to look at yourself in the mirror, and truly ADORE whatever it is you see.
Sweetheart, don't let anyone tell you you can't fool all the people all the time. If you're good enough, you can lie to everyone in the WHOLE world and they'll never know. You can fool everyone, even the best shrinks and psychologists, if you're good enough. But you will NEVER be able to fool you. And trust me, I've tried.
"The reward for conformism is that everyone likes you but you."
Friday, January 27, 2006
Shells
Nothing QUITE like the beach at dawn to arouse retardedly poetic ruminations.
See, I've always had this sort of fascination for those little clam shells. You know, the ones that open and leave two perfect halves, and sometimes you find those two halves still attached to each other?
Well, I've been collecting those (sort of) for the past couple of years.....was lucky today, found like, five.
Today was the only day I actually thought about WHY I've always liked them.
Maybe its because by nature, I admire perfection. Correctness. Accuracy. The way those two halves ALWAYS fit together with machine-cut precision. I've always been someone who loves it when there are pieces that fit perfectly to create a whole. Explains why I'm also obsessed with lockets and jigsaw puzzles.
Or it could be something else.
It could be, that like everyone else, I have this deep rooted desire buried somewhere in my tiny black heart.....
To be someone's other half.
And then I realized something.
When you find these shells on the beach, it looks like they were made for each other. Two halves of the same whole.
But what about when you find one WITHOUT another half.........
Its just as whole, isn't it?
See, when you think of "other half", you think of something..........broken. Something that's been split into two. Cracked. Not whole.
But half of that two part shell, it's a whole on its own.
The other shell....its other half, so to speak, is just a complement.
It's just something that makes it that much more special.
I've been thinking a LOT about relationships and such, and what happens when you let someone become so much a part of you that it's like you're broken, incomplete, not whole without them.
That's why its so important to look at relationships, not as a heart that when broken in two ceases to function without the other half....
But a pair of shells, that when broken apart, STILL retain their own personality, STILL retain their own charm, STILL retain their own beauty.
And here I go, rambling again.
Ignore me.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Stop Asking Why People Love Me And Read This
Since I am a LAZY ASS and used up for ideas, I shall be post up something I wrote a while ago that personally, I loved :) Love me, LOVE ME!!!Now, first, read this poem. (JUST READ IT, GODDAMNIT!)
Written with a pen,
Sealed with a kiss,
If you’re my friend,
Then answer me this:
Are you my friend,
Or are you not?
You told me once,
But I forgot.
Of all the friends,
I've ever met,
You're the one
I won't forget.
I won't forget.
And if I die
Before you do,
I'll go to heaven,
And wait for you.
And if you’re not there
On Judgement Day,
I’ll know you went
The other way…
And if you’re not there
On Judgement Day,
I’ll know you went
The other way…
I'll give the angels
Back their wings
And risk the loss
Of everything
Just to prove
My friendship is true,
I’d go to hell
To be with you…..
I’d go to hell
To be with you…..
NOW STOP!!! Are you tired of this rhyme? Because I am. This was nice the first time I read it, four years ago, but over the course of those FOUR YEARS, it lost its quality because a few of you Oh-So-Bright Spots kept sending it over and over and over and….well, you get the point. And so, to shut all of you obsessive-compulsive-lameass-rhyme-forwarders up, I decided to put my poetry writing skills to use. Read this, if you have the nerve!
Written with a pen
A thousand times,
If you’re my friend
Stop sending this rhyme.
It’s not even written,
It’s neatly typed,
Not that YOU’D notice that;
You never WERE all that bright.
Of all the friends
I've ever met,
You’re the one
That I can bet,
That I can bet,
Will be voted
“Most Useless Piece of Mass”
In your entire
Sophomore class.
And If I die
Before you do,
I was always a much
Better person than you,
Before you do,
I was always a much
Better person than you,
So I’d stand
With my angel friends
With my angel friends
And check on you
Down at the other end.
Down at the other end.
And tossing aside
All dignity and class
I’d point, laughing
At your sorry ass.
Horrible? Say it LOUD, say it PROUD! Mean? Dude! That’s my middle name!! Just-plain-bad-karma? Hey, at least I have a sense of humour. Cheers!!
Monday, January 23, 2006
Your Very Own Personal Doormat
Sometimes, I just hate the world and all the shallow, stupid, useless people in it.
People who are so very willing to take something from you, simply because you offer it, without seeing how much it means to you.
That would be where I come in.
You see, Sana can't blame you, you know why?
Because Sana's learned to stop showing how much it hurts.
Sana learned, a long time ago, that its OK to let people step on you on their way to the top.
Sana was taught that its OK to wave at them from down below and continue plugging along up, when you KNOW that its you and you alone who got them there in the first place. Waiting, climbling and whistling a happy tune while you climb, waiting for the opportunity to let someone ELSE step on you.
Sana was taught that at the end of it, if YOUR motives where pure, you're the better person.
But you know what?
Sometimes being the better person really sucks.
It means that you have to stand by and watch someone take credit for something YOU could duplicate but they could never, simply because it wasn't theirs to begin with.
It means that while standing there, you have to be supportive, and caring, and be their own personal cheerleader.
It means that when they ask you if you're OK, you DON'T say "OH, OF COURSE, GENIUS!!!! THAT'S MINE, YOU HEAR? MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE!!!!!", instead going, "Hahaha, don't be silly. This is YOUR glory!! You worked hard for it."
I actually AM OK with it though.
Usually, I am capable and mature enough to see past 15 seconds of fame and realize that the friendship I built, that the fact that they could actually come to me when they needed me and confess that they needed the help but wanted the glory, required me to swallow my pride and paste on a smile.
And thanks to my parents, who care about everyone's feelings but their own, I've learnt to make that smile genuine, and really not MIND doing stuff for people with no one knowing about it but me.
But sometimes it just kicks you in the stomach that so much you've done is just a waste. That at the end of it all, you've spent your time building an impressive resume for everyone.
Everyone but you.
Ever find that sometimes that side of you that focuses on you just wants to cry and take back everything? Write letters to everyone who offered praise and tell them to direct all their future compliments to you, please?
Everyone, EVERYONE quotes the "No Man Is An Island" BS without ever realizing one thing.
That at our very basic core, so many of us just want more and more and more. And that at the end of the day, the world's gonna fail and if ALL your investment is in everyone else, WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU?
What happens to you?
I'm going to be fine, don't worry. This is just one of my incredibly selfish and stupid moments when I just feel like ultimate crap.
The world isn't fair. But if SOMEONE has to stand in the middle of all that crap, then I care about you too much to let it be you.
This Is What You Do When You're Bored
You do character studies. I present to you, from Kuala Lumpur International Airport:
1) Brown Man Poser, Trying Desperately Hard to be White
Features:
- Tight leather jacket, black in colour, in Malaysian weather.
- Least attractive white female possible hanging on arm.
- Pseudo whiteboy accent. Note: Subject then picks up hand phone and starts conversing with “Daddy” in rapid Hindi.
2) Controlling Age Inappropriate Female
Features:
- White halter top.
- Overly short yellow (YELLOW!) jacket.
- Locks more fried than anything served up in KFC.
- Tight jeans with enough embroidered flowers to create a small garden.
- Unattractive submissive male at side. Note: Female often takes a minute off her mirror checking to shout at said male in loud, nasal Chinese.
3) Child Who Will Grow Up Confused
Features:
- Female parent with short, spiky hair.
- Male parent with long, silky ponytail.
4) “I’m too Koole 4 Skoole” Supreme Wannabe
Features:
- Twisted staple inserted into left nostril, possibly intended to resemble nose ring?
- Spiky hair, colour of human liquid excrement.
- Baggy pants. Note: White elastic band of subject’s inner wear was visible. Conclusion: Pants were approximately four sizes too big.
- White tee, in all probability XXL, made the pants look tight.
- Green cap jauntily turned to one side. Note: Cap was from Proton Dealers.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Hope
I realized something.
I am way too jaded and critical, and at times that leaves little room for hope.
First off, lets define hope, shall we?
Hope is this evil little jackass that crawls around inside your body when EVERYTHING ELSE, your logic, intuition and practical sense tells you to GIVE IT UP.
Hope is an excuse to continue to obsess about something (or someone) that everyone else around you is absolutely sure is worth nothing.
Hope is like a luxuriously soft pillow that you sit on, comfortably ruminating whatever it is that you should technically be moving away from. Now this would be all well and good if it STAYED there, but more often than not its cruelly snatched away and you fall flat on your rear.
In short, hope proves to be a very efficient method of bringing down many a strong-willed, opinionated, practical mind.
But then I sat back a second and wondered when it was that I let myself dislike the world so much.
My dad came here a few years ago and for some reason, he seemed to be watching me all the time. At the end of his week-long stay, he told me, quite simply, "You're not happy anymore. You seem to have lost the ability to be happy."
Now, normally, I'd laugh.
See, my dad's the type who believes that if you bend down and touch your toes 20 times every morning, you'll have a flat stomach in four years.
And also that if you push your front teeth back with your palm, you'll have perfect teeth by the time you're 75.
And also that if you drink carrot juice and eat papayas every day, your skin will shine like Aishwarya Rai's. (Of course, by the time your skin shines like this, she'll probably be dead, but who's counting?!)
But THIS TIME, instead of the usual, "Whatever dad."
I went, "Goddamnit, you're right."
And then I think I might have cried a little.
When DID I allow my laughter to stop reaching my eyes?
When DID I allow myself to refuse to admit that a silver lining could in fact, exist?
When DID I start coming up with Plan B, and if that failed, Plan C and D?
I realized something very important then. That hope actually IS happiness. How happy you are depends completely on your ability to let GO of mistrust, to put down your page of calculations and to put your pride and logic on the shelf.
I'm learning to do that now. I am pleased to report that I've started being a lot more optimistic. Learning to believe that people really DO want to be my friends and have no hidden agenda. Learning to recognize the true value of hopes and dreams. Learning to compliment people and REALLY mean it. Learning that if I WANT to marry hot guy, it IS actually possible!!!
Thanks, dad.
And just for the record, carrot juice is yucky.
I am way too jaded and critical, and at times that leaves little room for hope.
First off, lets define hope, shall we?
Hope is this evil little jackass that crawls around inside your body when EVERYTHING ELSE, your logic, intuition and practical sense tells you to GIVE IT UP.
Hope is an excuse to continue to obsess about something (or someone) that everyone else around you is absolutely sure is worth nothing.
Hope is like a luxuriously soft pillow that you sit on, comfortably ruminating whatever it is that you should technically be moving away from. Now this would be all well and good if it STAYED there, but more often than not its cruelly snatched away and you fall flat on your rear.
In short, hope proves to be a very efficient method of bringing down many a strong-willed, opinionated, practical mind.
But then I sat back a second and wondered when it was that I let myself dislike the world so much.
My dad came here a few years ago and for some reason, he seemed to be watching me all the time. At the end of his week-long stay, he told me, quite simply, "You're not happy anymore. You seem to have lost the ability to be happy."
Now, normally, I'd laugh.
See, my dad's the type who believes that if you bend down and touch your toes 20 times every morning, you'll have a flat stomach in four years.
And also that if you push your front teeth back with your palm, you'll have perfect teeth by the time you're 75.
And also that if you drink carrot juice and eat papayas every day, your skin will shine like Aishwarya Rai's. (Of course, by the time your skin shines like this, she'll probably be dead, but who's counting?!)
But THIS TIME, instead of the usual, "Whatever dad."
I went, "Goddamnit, you're right."
And then I think I might have cried a little.
When DID I allow my laughter to stop reaching my eyes?
When DID I allow myself to refuse to admit that a silver lining could in fact, exist?
When DID I start coming up with Plan B, and if that failed, Plan C and D?
I realized something very important then. That hope actually IS happiness. How happy you are depends completely on your ability to let GO of mistrust, to put down your page of calculations and to put your pride and logic on the shelf.
I'm learning to do that now. I am pleased to report that I've started being a lot more optimistic. Learning to believe that people really DO want to be my friends and have no hidden agenda. Learning to recognize the true value of hopes and dreams. Learning to compliment people and REALLY mean it. Learning that if I WANT to marry hot guy, it IS actually possible!!!
Thanks, dad.
And just for the record, carrot juice is yucky.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Nostalgic Awe
The first two poems that I wrote here (well....aside from rude versions of Happy Birthday) were about how much I hated school and Clinton and Fakhri, and about how people of the world were all different.
My last two were about a little girl at war time, and a survivor of the Khmer Rouge.
From just over 8 to just under 16, those are the changes in thought process of an actually not so very complex mind.
I am awed by the fact that my hobbies have become such a part of me that they've grown right along with me.
I've matured (sort of), and so have they.
From the chubby, clumsy kid on stage to the performer people miss when she's not making mistakes and looking at Nazmi for confirmation. From the child who mocked Sa Ri Ga to the adolescent comforted and pacified by a good classical melody. From a bunch of papers stapled together to the quality cloth bound, hardcover miniature that any printing press would be proud to publish.
Now, ya know what? I'm still not that great a singer, or dancer, or pianist or anything. But what astounds and never fails to reduce me to a state of nostalgic awe is that people I've barely spoken to, people who I never knew were watching me.....were watching me.
Aish's dad told me that once, about four years ago, he saw me walking home from school crying, crying so hard I couldn't even see him through the tears. He was telling me the other day that he was so proud of me, how I'd grown and morphed, relating back to this incident, and telling me how he'd wanted to get out of the car and ask me what was wrong.
I was actually speechless for once. Not even Sarah has seen me speechless.
I'm not gonna get this anywhere else, man, NEVER anywhere but here.
Damn, I'm gonna miss this place.
My last two were about a little girl at war time, and a survivor of the Khmer Rouge.
From just over 8 to just under 16, those are the changes in thought process of an actually not so very complex mind.
I am awed by the fact that my hobbies have become such a part of me that they've grown right along with me.
I've matured (sort of), and so have they.
From the chubby, clumsy kid on stage to the performer people miss when she's not making mistakes and looking at Nazmi for confirmation. From the child who mocked Sa Ri Ga to the adolescent comforted and pacified by a good classical melody. From a bunch of papers stapled together to the quality cloth bound, hardcover miniature that any printing press would be proud to publish.
Now, ya know what? I'm still not that great a singer, or dancer, or pianist or anything. But what astounds and never fails to reduce me to a state of nostalgic awe is that people I've barely spoken to, people who I never knew were watching me.....were watching me.
Aish's dad told me that once, about four years ago, he saw me walking home from school crying, crying so hard I couldn't even see him through the tears. He was telling me the other day that he was so proud of me, how I'd grown and morphed, relating back to this incident, and telling me how he'd wanted to get out of the car and ask me what was wrong.
I was actually speechless for once. Not even Sarah has seen me speechless.
I'm not gonna get this anywhere else, man, NEVER anywhere but here.
Damn, I'm gonna miss this place.
Testing, testing, I HATE COMPUTERS.
Ok. I'm freaked out.
I am freaked out at the prospect of starting YET ANOTHER one of these...things.
Lyn, if this bowls, THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
Now, I can't PREDICT how much I'm going to blog. I kinda write things down when they inspire me. As and when they do. And as this is the first post that I'm absolutely OBLIGATED to write, it WILL suck.
But it'll get better.
I promise!!!!
I am freaked out at the prospect of starting YET ANOTHER one of these...things.
Lyn, if this bowls, THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
Now, I can't PREDICT how much I'm going to blog. I kinda write things down when they inspire me. As and when they do. And as this is the first post that I'm absolutely OBLIGATED to write, it WILL suck.
But it'll get better.
I promise!!!!