You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Innerthoughts' category.
We went to the beach today to swim and relax, but nothing went to plan. The tide was low and the water was so shallow that after walking for ages, the highest the water would go was to reach our knees. So much for swimming. It was rather windy and cloudy so sun-tanning was a goner, and playing with the frisbee was near impossible in the wind.
I started thinking about how we nearly broke up on the same beach, yet how the weather then was much nicer, much finer. And I sulked over how I thought it was a day for just the two of us, and yet he had asked all his friends to come down to join us. And I remembered how my friend asked me, why do you put up with it?
But then he kept beckoning me with his hand, entwining my fingers in his, saying cheesy things just to make me smile. None of his friends came, so it really was a day for just the two of us. So I shook away those feelings of doubt, and let myself enjoy the moment.
I don’t need to be always thinking about why I’m doing something or not doing something. I want to stop thinking, and start feeling. After all, I’ve always advocated listening to the heart rather than to the head.
Why do I put up with it? It’s very simple, really.
It’s because I love him. No reasoning, no rationalizing. Just… feeling.
It’s been a while since I posted on this blog. I’ve been avoiding talking or writing about my feelings. All I wanted to do was forget, to stop thinking, and to enjoy myself. I thought that maybe if I ignore it, all the doubts and regrets I was feeling would just disappear. If I stopped thinking so much, maybe all this anger I was feeling would fade away. Needless to say, my strategy didn’t work. And over the past few weeks, I found myself ebbing away from all my efforts to not feel any emotion. I was no longer myself, just a skeleton with an empty soul.
But the numbness that I had mistaken for comfort gradually bit away at me. So I thought, perhaps it’s time I did something. It was time to do something.. something drastic, even. I was going to let go of everything that was important to me, to push away the one person who I never thought I would ever push away. I saw the ring on my finger, the sapphire twinkling ever so brightly at me, and I felt as if everything was a lie.
I wanted to scream my lungs out, and cry until my tearducts dried. Every bit of me was thrashing about with pain, misery, and guilt. Every single thought that raced through my mind conflicted with each other. It was an ugly time for me. I look back now, and I wonder, how did I ever conjure up those smiles? How did I ever managed to command my limbs to move?
And after hashing out all my emotions, I merely stopped… and started letting myself feel and think at the same time. I talked to him, and he talked to me, and we just kept talking. Just the simple act of talking made me feel calm and relaxed all at once. I gathered my thoughts, I allowed my emotions to flow, and I expressed my thoughts and feelings. And suddenly, just as suddenly as this wave of anger and agony had appeared, I felt okay.
I didn’t feel as if I was really happy, or really sad. I was just… okay. I faced reality, armed myself with the facts, and I marched on forward with a sort of determination I haven’t felt in years. Life is not a storm, nor is it a quiet day at the sea. It is like the weather, unpredictable and cruel at times. But just like the way I endured the cold, windy, rainy nights, I charge forward, because I know that there is a bright, brilliant, sunny day waiting for me. I just have to be patient. I just have to trust myself and trust my ability to cope with life’s many storms.
And I think I do. I trust myself. I don’t doubt, I don’t question.
And that, is how I ended the year of 2008. The fireworks in town were boring and measly, but the emotional journey I went through ended with a big bang.
I am back, at a home in which I’m not entirely sure I belong in. I got a break like I wanted, a time to clear my head and organise my thoughts. I did return with some perspective about my life, but I don’t feel any more relaxed or any less stressed than I was before I left.
I am so not cut out for holidays.
No matter how long or short my holidays are, I somehow find myself being stressed, angry, frustrated and upset. It happened when I went on my first long holiday with the boyfriend. It happened when I went on a 3-day trip with newly made friends. It happened on my most recent holiday with the parents.
Somehow, for some reason, I am bad at having a good time during a holiday. For the past two weeks, I have fought with my mum, get yelled at by my parents, got irritated by rude passerbys and harassed by a stranger. I have cried too many times, got angry and moody too much to forgive-and-forget, and found myself wishing that I had never agreed to go on this holiday.
The very last day of the trip was the worst. There was already tension in the air, and all I wanted to do was go back to the apartment and binge on ice-cream. I just wanted to throw myself on that crappy, thin sofa bed pull-out mattress and sleep the day away. I was already upset and my nerves were fried. Then this strange man kept following me around. I walked closer to my parents, thinking he wouldn’t dare try anything with them around. And when I actually walked slightly ahead of my parents, he actually touched me. Not that he actually did anything – all he managed to do was touch my back with his dirty hand. Normally, I’d ignored freaks like these and walked away. But I was already so angry and tired and stressed. The moment his fingers laid on my back, I turned around and growled, “What the FUCK do you want?!” I thought my parents would defend me, tell him to stay away, or at the very least, stare daggers at him. They did none of the above. They yelled at ME, asking me why I would say that to the stranger. The bastard started calling me names, insulting me with words that barely hurt me, but as I walked away, I gave him the finger and told him to fuck off. As a result, my parents yelled more at me, telling me off for asking for trouble. I cried all the way back to the apartment, and continued crying as I laid in my makeshift bed.
It was a horrible last day.
How glad I am to be finally home. Although things are not the same anymore. I view my parents with different eyes. I already try so hard to accept my parents despite who they are, who they were and what they did. When I told my sister about the incident, she wasn’t surprised. When she was much younger than I am now, her tuition teacher put his arms around her when she was on the phone. When she got home and told my parents, they told her it was her fault, because she put herself there in that position, so she had no one to blame but herself.
When I was a kid, I always thought my parents would be my security blanket, that they would protect me and shelter me from any harm. How wrong I was. Instead, they are now my model of what kind of parent NOT to be when I have my own kids in the future. Everything they’ve done wrong, I’m determined to correct. I was once passionate about having kids of my own, but now I am dubious about being a parent. I am worried that I will commit the mistakes my parents made. I do not want to be like my parents. I do not want my kids going through life the way I had to. I do not want my kids to see the ocean and want to drag themselves in with stones tied to their feet. I do not want my kids to imagine what the impact would be like to fall off a building everytime they saw a high-rise building. I do not want my kids to be me.
So yeah, I got some sort of perspective after this trip, but no, it was not a real holiday or a break. I did have some good times, but sometimes, I still wished I never left home for that supposed holiday. But what happened already happened. There’s nothing I can do to change that. Life doesn’t allow for rewinds or deletes. And so I live with it. And I am, surprisingly, okay with that.
In less than a week, I’ll be flying off for a holiday with the parents. I think it’s infintely good that I’m getting away, even for a mere 2 weeks. I need to get away from the people here, and all the emotions and drama I’m going through.
Yes, it’ll be good.
I wish I knew how to let go. Let go of my anger, and not let it ruin my day. Let go of friends, who are no longer good for me. Let go of painful memories, so I no longer get haunted by ghosts.
But I can’t. I can’t let go… because I don’t know how to.
I’ve clung onto way too many things in life than I should have. I keep everything inside my heart, lock it with a key, and I throw it away. Sometimes I thought the boyfriend found this hidden “key”, but no, no matter how much I reveal to him, there is always something, just that little something, that is tucked away in the darkest, farthest corner of my heart.
Sometimes I wonder why I chose to study psychology. Is it really out of genuine interest? Or is it because I was trying to find out more about myself? Why am I so secretive, so uncomfortable with disclosure?
Now that I’m nearly done with my studies, I don’t think I should go down the path of psychology at all. How can I help others, when I can’t even help myself?
Someone, please fix me.
For some couples, excitement and passion is everything. Things tend to get dull after a while, and the spark that brought you together is no longer present. Just flip through any women’s magazine, and you’ll see a limitless number of articles on how to bring that spark into your life again.
For me, it is never about the spark, because to be truthful, there never was a spark to begin with. We started as acquaintances, then as friends, then and only then we became lovers. There was no love at first sight. When we first met, he was infatuated with another girl, and I was disinterested. When we got together and became an ‘item’, we didn’t go on dates or romantic dinners. In fact, we were mainly studying in uni (oh gawd we were such nerds!).
Some couples are afraid of being comfortable. I don’t really see any harm in that. Unless you start letting yourself go and put on 20kgs or something (wtf!). But I love being comfortable in a relationship. I’m a very private person (says the girl with an online blog for all to see -_-”), and to be able to let someone into my heart is a very very difficult thing to do. But with the boyfriend, I was able to do that, slowly but surely. And it was the same for him. And I must admit, if we never gotten together and learnt to know more about each other, I would have a completely different view of him. To everyone else, he’s someone without a care in the world, willing to help anyone who asks. To me, he’s a boy with a constant burden on his shoulder, a boy who finds it difficult to laugh.
So yes, comfortable is what I love, what I need and what I crave. It’s not easy for the boyfriend, who is possibly the most private person I know who looks like the most open person in the world! But I think we’ve finally come to that stage. No need for romance, no need for excitement. Just him and me. Our passion may not seem explicit, but it’s the kind of quiet understated love we feel for each other. He may be watching tv while I’m reading a magazine, or we may both be studying in the same room but at different corners. But it’s okay, we’re comfortable with that. Just being in the presence of each other is enough to make our world.
happy colours 
I had a strange dream last night. I dreamt that I went back and I was surrounded by my relatives. My cousins were all confused as to how old I was. And the odd thing was, I was confused too. Am I forgetting who I am? I don’t want to be forgotten, especially not by my cousins. I love them all so much. Although I speak to them on the phone and every now and then I go back to visit them, it’s not quite enough. They’ve all grown so much. I’m worried that they’ll eventually forget me. If they don’t know who I am, do I know?
the picture that has always been in my wallet
I don’t know why, but I felt especially frustrated today. I feel stupid, I feel fat, I feel ugly, I feel average. The worst is the feeling of being average, or worse still, of being less than average. I feel like I’m not keeping up with everyone around me. Everyone else is smarter, prettier, thinner, better. I feel like I can’t compete, that I’m not even on the same wavelength as everyone else. I’m just at the bottom of the pit, just muck and rotten moss and absolutely inconsequential.
I’ve always thought I’d be/do something great one day. That my life wasn’t limited to the 9 to 5 office lifestyle that both my parents were trapped in. I was eager to break out of my dull and dreary life, and I was so convinced that I could do it. But I haven’t felt like that in years. I noticed how painfully average I am, and it really hurts to think that I am destined to be nothing more.
I used to dream of becoming a ballerina. I worked harder than anyone else in class. I skipped grades, but suffered because none of the girls liked me. But still I persevere. The principal of my ballet academy suggested to my mum to send me overseas, but back then, we were still struggling to pay off the mortgage for our house. It was a few years later when both my parents got promoted at work that we’re living the comfortable lifestyle we’re in right now. I really thought I had a future in ballet. My teachers told me I was their most hardworking student. But back then, I didn’t realise that ‘hardworking’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘talented’. I learnt the hard way that life is unfair. When puberty hit and I gained weight, too much for an aspiring ballerina, my teacher took me aside and said, “You’re the most hardworking student in class, but you’re not the best. Ballet is cruel. If you don’t have the right body shape, you can’t survive.” And I knew, from that moment on, that no matter how hard I worked, I would never be the ‘right’ shape. My closest friend in class was the one with the ideal body shape, but she was one of the laziest. I used to be resentful of her, and sometimes, I still feel that way.
Fast forward to a few years later, and I discovered my love for writing. Writing makes me feel at ease with myself, just like the way I felt when I danced. My passion for writing consumed me the same way ballet used to. There were days when I was contented to stay alone in my room, doing nothing but write, write, write. I used to write fanfiction (I used to be obsessed with Harry Potter) and submit them online and I would receive flattering comments. Then I attended a creative writing workshop and everyone seemed to enjoy my stories. The tutor even asked me to read my story aloud in front of strangers at the very last day of the workshop, when students from all the other creative writing workshops gathered together at a party. I knew I was a long way ahead of becoming a published author, but I was convinced it was not an implausible idea. Then somehow, my inspiration seemed to dry out, and I felt everything I wrote was rubbish. Yet another dream goes down the drain.
I never really realized how fearful I was of being average. It scares me to know that my life would just be another unnoticed blimp in history. I would never have had an impact on anyone’s life. I would never have had an impact on mine. Maybe that’s why I want to get a job where I can interact with people, where I can help them and contribute back to the community. I feel as if that’s my life’s mission, to help others and to have an impact on others. It may sound selfish, but I don’t want to be forgotten. I want to be remembered, even if it’s only for making a patient smile. I want to change people’s lives, and to change mine. But how can I do that if I’m only average, if I’m lower than average?
I feel as if every step I take can change the future. So any mistake I make now, even a minor one, can affect how my future outcome is. And maybe it’s a bit too late to realize this. If only I studied harder, if only I worked harder, if only if only. I feel like my whole life’s at stake here, and I have already unwillingly spun the wheel that would determine my fate. Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows.
It never fails to surprise me how horrible the Internet can be. People can be absolutely vicious to you, just for trying to voice your opinions. They can hurt your feelings, and even though they’re not someone who’s important to you, you still feel the sting anyway. Some are plain assholes, who insult you because they actually derive enjoyment from other’s pain and suffering.
Thank goodness for real life. Because I can always choose to turn off my laptop and walk away. Whereas those people, those vultures who feed on others, will just be another trash I put into the Recycle Bin.
I’ve always loved the songs of The Beatles. As a child, I danced to Love Me Do and Can’t Buy Me Love, and I cried to Yesterday and Michelle. Then, a few years ago, I (re)discovered The Beatles’ later songs that dated between 1967 and 1970. They were in a whole different genre than the songs between 1962 and 1966. The earlier songs were songs that made your heart soar and made you dance without worrying how silly you looked. There were also songs that tugged at your heartstrings, making the sky darken with gloom, like Eleanor Rigby. But the later songs were very very different. Songs like Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds and Strawberry Fields Forever had this psychedelic feel to them. As a kid, I didn’t quite appreciate these songs, preferring the upbeat melody from the earlier songs instead. But as I grew older, I have grown to love the later songs as much as I love the earlier ones.
Unlike the earlier songs, which had a similar quality to them, the later songs were different from each other. There were upbeat songs that made you smile, like All You Need Is Love and Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da. And who could ever forget the infamous Hey Jude, which was allegedly written by Paul McCartney for John Lennon’s son Julian when John was in a relationship with Yoko Ono. But there were also a very very whimsical song with a catchy tune: I Am The Walrus. I love singing along to the song, and I could never understand how John Lennon came up with the lyrics:
I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I’m crying.Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.Mister city policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like lucy in the sky, see how they run.
I’m crying, i’m crying.
I’m crying, i’m crying.Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye.
Crab a locker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the english rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don’t you think the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
I’m crying.Semolina pilchard, climbing up the eiffel tower.
Elementary penguin singing hare krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking edgar allan poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.
Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo.
The words are just so nonsensical and whimsical. It reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, and indeed, the walrus in the song is from the poem The Walrus and the Carpenter (which was in the second Alice book, Through The Looking Glass). Despite the lyrics being so silly, I love the song to bits. Every time I listen to this song, I feel a sense of euphoria, as if I’m in a state of high. The other day I turned up the volume, chose the song, and danced around in my room like a mad woman. At that moment, I felt like nothing else in the world matter, that I had not a single care in the world. It was just me, and the walrus.
