My values and ideas are dated. It is as thought I’m fighting against a demon that has been vanquished. I feel slightly insane. At the same time I am shocked at people’s passivity and obliviousness to the demons existence. It is there! Can they not see?! But it is not. How do I reconcile my acknowledgement with their denial? Is there a demon? Am I deluding myself?

I have not been able to analyze the life here to be sure enough. What if the demon has died already? Has the demon died already? They say so. But I don’t believe it. It is like returning from war and expecting bombs to keep falling. I am still afraid. I am still on edge. I am still acutely aware and yet I am not. My energy leaks away, analyzing trivialities, all for protection and none of it is translated into useful knowledge. I know how they move, how they talk, I know how to identify them from several feet away and yet I do not know how to put it down in words for others to know. I don’t know how to stop this. Do I want to stop this?

I am fighting against something that no longer exists. Thus, I must be insane. But am I? Am I really?

Doubt.

On Writing

Writing is like going to war. There are a lot of inflated egos involved. Most times the issue has been blown out of proportion. Other times there is no issue, just a need for blood, carnage and destruction. Except every innocent civilian killed, imprisoned, kidnapped, raped, mutilated – those tortured and those that torture – are all visions of the narcissistic soul that sits, silently, holding a pen.

Middle Ground

Inspired by Mr. Sherlock Holmes herself.

I dont think I’ll go places. I’ll give up some day and decide to go live in the caves.

I finished the two gifts I was making! :L I are happy.

10:35am

I have finished my exams and I’m strangely glad. I’m not usually because exams really dont mean anything to me, but my application for college withdrawal is complete and signed by all the right people. Now all thats left is giving it in after all my grades are in the system. And after that all thats left are the goodbyes…but goodbyes really arent goodbyes anymore. People that want to stay in touch do stay in touch and its better to simply clean out the ones to which your actions are more of a liability than anything else. And so I will be cleaning out, gladly, all the skeletons, spiderwebs and dustballs from the back of my proverbial closet. And I will be happy for it.

Its 2:45am.

There used to be days when I used to be writing furiously at this hour. A poem, an abstract piece, a something. I’m too tired now. And the crippling melancholy has set in. Its interesting and frustrating at the same time that I feel this way; that something is fundamentally wrong after a perfectly good day. What sense does that make? When life hands you lemonade itself, what is there to be upset about?

Theres a shitload to do, a lot of it thats emotionally overwhelming stuff. Not the goodbyes, but the arranging things for the school year over there – the registering, the applying for an id card. I havent even sent my dad the form yet so he can mail it. I;ve filled it out, saved it and everything but simply not emailed it. Its called fear, this thing that ruins everything. An irrational fear of life itself. Sad part is I know exactly what it is that stops me and i do nothing about it. And then make up excuses. But dont we all make up excuses for ourselves? Its how we all live as humans.

As humans… what are we as humans?

I want to write something here. I intended to write something here, but its 3:20, I have just returned from a draining wedding, and tomorrow is another day. Another fucking day.

I have yet to complete my photography project. And I have to put the finishing touches on my psych paper. And make a powerpoint for the both of them. And complete the two gifts I’ve been making.

Things keep going wrong. And I’m too tired to do anything about them except seethe internally. I have been telling myself its all in my head, and really, until a while ago I felt good. But I keep lapsing into this state of melancholy where everything matters so much that nothing can matter at all. Where I struggle between action, reaction and inaction. Because things need to be done, but my chest feels like a black-hole into which the rest of my body has disappeared.

I convinced myself today that I no longer belong to the world of the creative. I should simply give up the guise. Stop taking pictures, stop drawing and making things, because I wont get it, no matter when i wont have that flair. With that comes the feeling that my life has been a succession of improbably chances and incredibly good luck. And luck can only take you so far. I dont have it in me to face the odds and brave the waters and do the long list of other things that are done in such cliches. I simply dont have the flair. The life. The vivacity. And no amount of technical excellence makes up for that. No amount of being good at XYZ makes up for that. No amount of anything else makes up for that because in the end I’m creatively fucked. I am snug inside the box and I dont even know that I can open it. To paraphrase again, I am creatively fucked. I am an artistic nothing. I’m a walking, talking, fucking generic cliche. The shallow, vain, psuedo-intellectual, that would like to think there is something special about her because everyone says so – everyone expects as much. But in fact there is no specialty. My cowardice is cloaked in “excellence” and thats all there is to it. Nothing special. Nothing.

Its a kind of strange happiness. Not the overwhelming, fleeting enthusiasm I’m used to feeling. Its a kind of peace. An acceptance of what was, is, and a realistic and mildly optimistic view of what will be. There is some clarity now, regarding a few things…regarding inspiration, creation, purposes and meanings and all of that “deep” stuff. I’ve realised I can feel what I feel without being consumed by it, while still retaining stability, knowing that it is *ME* that feels and thinks. I feel but that feeling does not possess me and does not explain my actions. My actions are mine. My choices are mine. And the way I live my life is mine.

Perhaps I’m in this mood because I know i’m leaving. The date is coming ever closer. And yes, there will be people I will miss…but then what of the people I will meet there? What of being able to “grow into my shoes” so to speak? What of being ME? And being able to freely be as I please? The thought of being given this opportunity, to move to a place where freedom is unconditionally given…the prospect of such a place is enlivening.

We have been having these installation projects lately in college, interactive art pretty much. Today I participated in another group’s project. It was fun but esentially pointless. I think the fun part made up for the pointlessness We took paint in squishy bottles and splashed a person with different colours of paint. I got my new jeans dirty but the paint washed off. Our installation was “installed” yesterday. Its a bed on which people write their dreams. It went well, people connected. I connected. These artworks, they’re beautiful. To get the audience to connect with your concept, and in our case, to have a little piece, a snippet, of the workings of people’s minds…its beyond amazing. Its llike being part of things, not watching from far above as your body moves around and talks to people and does things, but actually being in the moment. I want to feel like this, everyday. I want to feel like this for the rest of my life – completely in the moment but also liberated from it. To be both inside and outside myself, not as a divided half but as a whole. As a whole, complete person that has the right and reason to believe in the future.

I’m going to go treat myself nicely now, get the paint out of my hair and maybe go draw.

Take care all ^_^

I feel SO FUCKING USELESS!

I MUST CREATE!!! I MUST!

I experience vague instances of feeling, every now and then. Vague, unidentifiable feelings, but still, momentary breaks in the bleak nothingness I feel most of the time.

I was asked what I thought about life, how I felt about things, people, anything, everything. She said if she asked me if I was happy, it would be a very silly question. One of the few that realize that. I said here it felt like someone was holding a pillow to my face. I think I might be at the stage where a person loses all consciousness. But I didnt tell her that.

It was a strange day. There was a lot of emotional revelation. People seemed ready to talk, only waiting for someone who would listen. I wish I had been in my usual state, at the top of my empathetic ability so I could have felt the importance of it all instead of telling myself, logically, how I was meant to react and what words said would help the most. But we do what we can. I helped as I could.

Tomorrow will either be busy or filled with mild anxiety. I have not begun working on what I have to do…
So I actually should go.

I think i might write something today, later….or at least draw a detailed miniature of an idea I had for a painting/pastel drawing. Creativity…*satisfied sigh*

I got bored of my background so…here be the new one!

I find it is a refreshing change from the old one which was progressively becoming more drab and boring.

I shall change this one when I get bored of it, but for now, this shall fuel my writery-ness or at least allow it to transfer itself onto teh page.

I’ve come to this blog more than a few times in the past couple days and stopped short of making an entry because

a) when I first made this blog, I was determined that it wouldnt be a place where I come and whine about myself
b) if I ever did whine about myself, it would be done in style
c) it was supposed to be a place for creative expression of common thought.

Unfortunately my mind is not beautiful enough for me to make it what I intended it to be. Maybe some day I’ll manage to pull it back into shape. For now, I”m convinced of one thing, that is, sometimes the healthiest thing to do is to sit and whine about one’s self. I said sometimes. Being honest I do it more than sometimes but I”m a writer so I”m entitled. Hah. So as days go by and leave my mind blankER than it already is, I shall whine in plain words.

—-

The day started of as usual – I woke up at 5ish, realised I’d fallen asleep without having turned out the lights and such. So I got up, turned off the computer, the lights, turned on the AC, neatened up the bed area and went back to sleep. Woke up again at about 8ish and took out my phone and mp3 player from underneath me. Went back to sleep. Woke up again at 10ish and stayed awake.

It was a rather boring day, after that, as holidays go. It generally has been..pretty dull around here. Even with the exhibition coming up and whatnot. Its like going from walled enclosure to walled enclosure. Life here is like that. Its either my room or the living room or some fucking mall or shop or grocery store..with very little in between except for traffic jams and drives spent arguing with someone or the other about something or the other that really shouldnt make much of a difference. Even daydreaming about catching a flight to somewhere on a whim is ludicrous because of the shitload of legal formalities to be carried out before one can leave the country. The earliest I could ever leave is two days, considering its the middle of the week. I’d never be able to work at an airport and what all those people leave and be stuck in one place myself.

Heh. I just spent the last half hour looking for the cheapest flight out of here. Turns out search engines dont work that way. I’ve got to type in a destination. Funny thing..I dont really know where I’d rather be.

Its easy to think being in a different place would make me a different person. To an extent, maybe…but it wouldnt *really* change much. I would love to keep traveling. Pick up and start afresh somewhere after 2 to 3 years. Live in those places, encounter new people, encounter myself encountering new people, new things. Life gets boring in the same place. In pursuit for constancy and “settling down” people forget how much is out there. Its not a small world. Not in the least. Or maybe its just about having no strings attached, no bridges to go back over except the ones I choose not to burn. As clean a cut as I will it to be. Selfish? So be it.

My recent physical crash I have determined is/was a physical manifestation of..well, this sense of feeling trapped, bogged down, etc etc. After several pricks and tests and whatever else, its been diagnosed as..hmm..nothing too serious. But it couldnt have been nothing. It was too fucking much to be nothing. The last few test results will arrive tomorrow but I”m pretty sure they’ll be clear. They say all situations can be changed but I dont know how to change this one. The cursor blinks now…I have no more to write. Its 4am and I should probably be getting to bed…to wake up to another walled enclosure to spend my day in.

A moment ago I knew what to write here.

I hate people.

Its really as simple as that.

“People” includes me, in case you thought I think I’m a saint. I’m not. I’m probably a bad person. At this moment it doesnt bother me much. Its human nature to be bad, isnt it? You’re either bad to other people or you’re bad to yourself. Or both.

Right now I”m ignoring my baby sister’s calls for “doodie” <– me, and I am procrastinating which is eventually gonna bit me in the ass. I’ve also spent the day being used as a doormat. Its a good feeling, to give. Yeah, it really is. <– sarcasm, in case anyone missed that.

I’d better get to that assignment I’ve been avoiding for two weeks.

Bits of the Day that I felt awesomely :L

I am in an oddly chipper mood after my mindBLASTING headache…<–weird joke.

The day has gone well and I might even be able to borrow random books from somebody! Yay! Books make me happy :L

I have also accomplished (I hope) something that I have been trying to finish for a while now (Yay! again!) :L

And despite the fact that I miss a lot of not so random people terribly (Darky included but not exclusive) I feel GOOD :L Does anyone realise how fucking hard that is around here? :L

*happy sigh*

I made a random drawing today..of…well, take a guess… in the uber awesome drawing session thingie. Tis scanned and attached below.

No, It is crumpled paper!

In other news, the colour photography shooting went beyond disasterously. Well, it actually didnt..go at all. There were seniors in the studio during our scheduled session AND they stayed for about 3 hours. But oh well. Life is GOOD! :L and no, that is not sarcasm.

Needless to say, I have not written anything today as I do not feel like shit. Thats an odd relief. I’m thinking I will not attempt to write until I really do feel like it, instead of force stuff out like I have been. I will wait and bottle shit up so the next piece of mine is a masterpiece :L aren’t I smart? I am SO ready for a masterpiece.

Anywho, that is all of this lunatic’s ravings. I shall now proceed to work on my many assignments and random other side projects. hooraaaa! :L

Toodles

Letters to …

Darky! I miss you!

(Yes, I had to publicly declare it)

My heart beats for no reason. I feel dizzy and light headed and I can barely type because the strength of my fingers seems to have given out. I want to crawl into bed and stay there..as I did today. But I have work. Sketches and a test and a process book to get bound. And a colourful dress to choose for photography. And? And. *sigh* I am out of breath. But I havent been running. I have barely moved today.

I should go..and do some work.

Mom and dad were on speaker phone. Sophie was with mom. I was in my room feeling guilty as fuck while trying to (unsuccessfully) concentrate on my homework.

My brother, apparently guilt-less, went to take a fucking nap in the middle of the evening. He will then proceed to go out with his friends and return after 12, incidentally the time Sophie falls asleep.

Its been a strange (?) day. I suppose its because I havent slept. College was good..as was the open drawing class. Its something I can look froward to every week.

Who knew happiness could be this tiring? My day was what a normal person would call “good”. I felt good. Until I got in the car to go home. It is mostly just physical tiredness, this state of mind..but of course, with physical tiredness comes weakening of mental defenses.

I think I might go to bed… but of course, I’ll wake up feeling the same way. At least this way, I’m writing.

Blurb

You search for empty pages on which to relieve yourself. The sinking heart, the cluttered mind. Outside the window pigeons flutter away, one after the other. You have taken to letting the words pour out of you, with no control. It doesnt work. There is only so much you can write before you have to write the truth.

The power of my eyes will diminish as I write this, in the dark, by the soft blue light of a mobile phone (new-age candles). But the pain is too great, and there are too many thoughts. Before something breaks (before I break) I must let go, write, speak, create something of the pathetic excuse of a life I have. I must make something of my anguish, let it not be in vain. Let the struggle not be forgotten, underestimated. That is what its all about, isnt it? Self-preservation, self-recognition, self- retribution, chastisement in some cases. Art is narcissistic. I am, fundamentally, narcissistic. I help because I know what it is to not be helped, worried over, thought of. I help to redeem myself as more than what I think myself to be. To try and be better than I am, better than I can be. To, in some ways, not be me at all, in some ways not be human at all. To not want or need or desire, to simply love, live, breathe as though it were easy, as though it is easy to feel each moment, cherish each moment. As if it is bliss living in sweet pain, reminiscent pain. Cultivated pain. Sometimes remembrance is not enough, and forgiveness is impossible. And the only peace comes from knowing you get what you deserve, knowing you are suffocating, dying and have been so for years now. Knowing life can only be cherished when death is near. An idea you hold close to your heart. That joy can only be felt with despair. And happiness does not exist. There are no “happily ever afters”, and the wicked step mother always wins. There is always betrayal, abandonment, confusion, pain. There is always pain.

I’m sick of these title things.

It begins with slight discomfort, nearing pain. Just not quite.

Imperceptible little aches that plague your being; a twisted elbow, ankle, knee. Headache, muscle ache, back ache. All imperceptible, inconsequential discomfort. Nothing you pay attention to aside from the tightness of chest, difficulty breathing. The weight of the world presses down on your chest and soon your ribs will collapse, pierce through your lungs. Even still, the pain will be unworthy of notice, as it always is.

Who will be able to see, when all is said, broken, thrown away, the fractured pieces of your human structure? It is all under skin, and it is thick skin that you have, molded like putty. You can squeeze yourself through cracks, fill in the gaps, read people, complete their sentences and never really know them, but know yourself enough to know them.

I complete people’s sentences. Often. Most often I am correct. I guess at things and have the audacity to voice wild guesses, believe in them and even convince myself of their validity. I have reasons. What reasons? I do not know. Pretension.

Smarts count for nothing. I am not smart. I am not talented. I am a poser. I am inadequate. The dreams of being “great”, being more than myself are simply dreams. When push comes to shove, I’ve got nothing to give. Its much easier believing I have been restricted than believing this is the limit of my productivity. Of my growth. It is much easier thinking I did not apply myself, and in fact not applying myself, than to give it my all and at long last prove I am not good enough. I’ve got nothing to give. No greatness. Innovation. Wisdom. I am an empty vessel – sealed. I am a pointless hollow.

Bits of the Day

I havent written anything in ages. Not because I am short of inspiration, but because I havent tried. I have no time, no energy, no will to try and write. Well, I do have the will. Just not anything else.

I have written a lot, come to think of it. Just nothing that warrants a read. I dont remember more than half of it.

My head is killing me. I feel nauseous and physically uncomfortable but this is the only time I’ve got to do my work…which I have put off for too long. I am 75% done with an assignment. The other 6 are no where near started.

*sigh*

The bright side is its only tuesday.

The not so bright side is I never get work done over weekends.

Previous Post

Relief comes after midnight, when she is asleep. Does it make me a bad person to think of relief as her absence? It probably does. I am a bad person then.

Since dad left (i.e yesterday) she has taken to acting like devil spawn. Harsh? Maybe. I’m tired.

She’s angry with dad.

Its really no wonder she throws tantrums when mom and dad are together. Shes rarely had both parents at the same time.

I dont want to have kids when I grow up. Selfish? Maybe. Merciful, in part. All parents hurt their children. Thats how the relationship goes. Sometimes we hurt them, sometimes we dont have the chance to. Sometimes their guilt hurts them more than we ever could know. They are human, after all. So sometimes we forgive them.

I wonder how I will hurt her as she grows into herself. What character flaw, weakness, “issue” of mine will tear at our relationship. How she will be convinced I do not love her, mom does not love her, dad does not love her. How we will grow apart, carried away on different sides of a geographical fault as the earth’s plates move, filling up the void with water. Water, innocuous, ominous at the same time.

Strength, in this case, is hardly a consolation.

I love you, baby sister.

I stare at an unplayed piano in my room – the cliched symbol of unpursued or unpursuable ambitions. The imagined notes played (to Chopin’s Nocturne) fade to the soft tick-tick-tick of a powerless insect trying to make its way to the light through the lampshade. There are holes leading in on either side – but we are not all-knowing, and the path we are set on is seldom altered.

I realize now why most journals are written on un-lined paper. I have transcended the boundaries, grown past the lines on this page. My words are no longer contained and my wander across this plane as they please. The quick sketches I mark with this pencil are enough to convey meaning. We do not need perfection here – life seldom is perfect. This is raw reality; imperfection, illegibility, confusion, chaos. There are no rules to our world. Even Newton’s laws of motion have been partly disproved by Einstein’s theory of relativity. There is no certainty where we’re at. I can only promise you a Today. Tomorrow the world may take me; and the why’s of loss would be useless to you.

I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be in Beethoven’s head. Did he think to himself in music the way I do in words? Did he listen to the sound of water running down the drain, the sound of cars, or chariots in those days, fading as they go down the street? Did he listen to, in moments of peace, the sound of stillness? Is there ever stillness? Will there ever be peace?

Fidgeting. There is much to do. She sends us pictures of her daughters, every once in a while. A small gesture. The personal way to say “I think of you”, a thoughtful click. Her daughters are beautiful, as all children are, because of the very fact that they are children. I don’t know their names.

I can sit here, writing gibberish as the seconds trickle away. Do nothing with my life – not live it, not cherish it. I can sit here writing gibberish till my body is petrified to a dry crust and leave no record of ever having had a soul.

Incoherency – the second literary curse

It hasnt been the best of days.

Well, it has been. For me. But.

There are some things I refuse to talk about but perpetually think about. It’ll take a few days to wear off, at least partially.

I dont want to sleep.

Mom is back home. I’m being all weird around her. She hasnt noticed. Sophie is upset. My sweet Sophie. The darling with a sister who has failed her.

I’m not off the hook yet. This is just a temporary reprieve. I want rest. I want peace. Theres too much to do and too much being asked of me. I have been feeling my heart hammer my chest walls for the past three days. I dont want to sleep.

I need a shower. I dont want to fucking move.

I”m making no sense.

Almost (barely) there

this is getting really fucking tiring.

Moving in any position aside from the one I am in right now, in front of the computer, slaving away, makes me dizzy.

I like to whine, by the way.

Now that I have this shit out of my system, I can continue.

(somebody please kill me)

I HATE 2009

loving this capslock key though.

IT NEVER FUCKING ENDS!

Bits of the Day (insert number here)

I’m wasting time -__-

my fingers are fucking chafed and i have only got one frame mounted properly. UGH! I’m taking a break now, though typing may not be the best way to bring peace to my poor fingers. God, I sound self-centered. I have covered the tips with soft charcoal eraser though. It seems to be working.

I am now going to go and flip through (quite literally) my english book to revise the freaking grammar terms we have to memorise for the damn exam today.

I have slept. I am posting that for all concerned parties Sleep that actually counts as sleep and not just tossing and turning in bed and drifting off to some weird tense, scary place. No, I slept through most of yesterday actually.

That is about all for now. I’ll go waste my time some more learning a language I already know.

On a happier note – I seem to be having a good hair day! I have succumb to shallowness.

Anyhow

*poofs*

I’m alive

and havent crawled into a hole…which is surprising.

Exam week starts saturday, first one being English. I have the mounting left for a project I have finished. I hate mounting. My hands are sore and i have random paper cuts all over. Stupid hard museum board. I’ve still got 4 pieces to cut out. *sigh*

I dont want to talk about myself.

Honesty

I”m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. Ima fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I”m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I”m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I”m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fucking idiot.

FUCK! I”m a fucking idiot and I wish I could fucking die.

Talent?

What good is talent when it cannot be embraced?

“Understand I’m a Sinner”

” don’t like the idea of coffee” you said, and ironically spoke of kapoofing your head off. The value of human life as one sees it is interesting.

Vague statements, unlike smoke screens, cannot be blown away. So while I sip on the embodiment (in part) of my self destructive tendencies, you inhale the fumes of yours. Of course, “you” exist only as I want you to because I will see everything through my tinted glasses and the fumes making you dizzy will, in my mind, beautify you. Bloody bandages do all the explaining. Only doctors look at the wounds.

I read somewhere it is what we don’t know about strangers that makes us like them. The less I know about you, the easier it is to fall in love with the “you” I fill in the blanks for. Maybe you were me in another life. Maybe you were real. Maybe you felt human…but what is it to feel human? Is it to feel pain? To feel joy? To feel relief, guilt, sadness? To feel (too much), to think (too much) – is that what it takes?

They call it a disease. One we are, in part, at fault for. So many faults to repent for, so little time. Forgive me doctor, for I have sinned. I have felt too much of life. I have thought too much of death. I have sinned I have sinned. And I repent for being too human. I repent for the naivety I tried to maintain, but I am all spent now doctor. How many Valiums will bring me to Salvation? How many more conf(s)essions till I’ve been cured?

No, I can not

is very fucking hard to say.

Today

I missed one of my favourite classes today. Art Appreciation. Because I was registering. I went to the teacher and didnt have the decency to even say I’m sorry (which I genuinely was) because apparently…well, she didnt seem to mind. I feel like shit for not apologisint nonetheless. I should have. Even though I’m attending the lecture with another section on saturday.

So I finally got to register. I got to uni and went to registrars and told them the fucking shit system wasnt working and the shit response I got was “yeah, maybe there was a problem with IT, you can check with the. Maybe you can try registering from that lab?” Like wtf?! >_> the fucking system was SUPPOSED to be online at midnight.

Either way, I went to the lab, registered for courses (loooooong procedure, had to go to the academic affairs head because the shithead at registrars wouldnt let me drop english). Either way, that got done and I had class in the dark room. So I’m trying to print and I feel like I”m gonna collapse because I had had nothing but coffe since last night and ran the equivalent of at least 3 kilometers while trying to get all the signatures and bullshit for registration. So I go to the teacher and she gives me this disappointed look with a huge ass lecture and then sends me to go get food for myself. While eating I ask her what i”m supposed to do to improve my pictures. I am apparently supposed to shoot from my soul. They’re fucking textures. Someone tell me how. Anyways, she said the hourses I shot were the best and it all went downhill from there. I dont know what to do with this. I have a week left and the film I just developed was, in all honest, absolute shit. So I have got 3 rolls left. And a week to shoot and print. I”m so fucking screwed.

and so sleepy. And so fed up. Meh.

I want my bed and I want stress-free sleep.

Of Life and its Significance

The following post is purely written to organise my thoughts. Not entertaining or interesting.

So the documents for both schools have been photocopied and put in separate folders so bro can go get them attested. Funny how my life/my person/my everything comes down to a pathetic looking folder full of a shit excuse for “achievements”. But no one cares about the person anyways. We’re all just walking manikins, some of which happen to have validated themselves with a bunch of certificates and transcripts and references and statements certified by some governing body or organization that only sees them as such – a collection of certificates. Not a person, not a human being but simply a collection of recognized achievements.

We were talking about mom dying today, at the table. Morbid as it sounds, we were trying to make a point. Mother dearest wants to get/will soon get an operation done and father dearest will have departed for Canada. It’ll be me, bro, sophie and the nanny..and mom recovering from surgery. It got me thinking about death. My death, moms death, anyones death. A human beings death. And what we leave behind in the world. Why is it that certified education and a prestigious career and all that bullshit matter so much when there are greater things in life? Greater achievements and greater happiness. Greater fulfillment. Joy.

Why is it so hard? to…enjoy…to feel fulfilled, content, satisfied, satiated, at peace.

Its funny how you(I) train yourself(myself) to behave and do exactly what is asked of you(me)…and then wonder innocently what the restlessness is born out of; wonder why the tiny inbetweens..the few seconds it takes to get from one task to the next are full of…emptiness? Despair? Like a deep pit opens up within and all maintained happiness begins to sink somewhere into oblivion.

I want to do something more with my life. Feel greater achievement and greater happiness. Feel happiness…genuine happiness. I think of being a child..around ten I think I was…6th grade, whenever that was. I miss it. I miss it so much.

This was supposed to be a post about random shit I’ve got to do for uni. Transcripts, essays, portfolios, projects. And I’ve launched into a rant about everything I’ve been trying to ignore while making myself prepare all this shit.

Maybe I’m reading too much into these applications. But I cant help but feel…so often now..that who I am counts for absolute shit. Who I am is not Gin, or Areej, or Dolly or sister, daughter, friend. Who I am is insignificant. And if I die..when I die…all I’ll be leaving behind is a folder full of certificates, some vague memories, an obscure recollection of someone that once was or might have been or perhaps wasnt at all.

Random developments on this side of the..screen

I have found out today that I’ve got a shitload of work to do (more so than I had thought before the weekend began) and oddly, I cant seem to get myself started. This post is among the many procrastination techniques I’ve employed and it looks like I’m succeeding.

I sat and played with sophie for the first time in ages today. Kids take up time. Pets take up time. People take up time. So I have been avoiding all of them. Its funny how make-believe conversations in my head make up for almost no human contact.

In class on monday, I got up from my chair to hand in something to the teacher. Being me, I tripped and almost fell over someone’s bag/portfolio case/art supplies and whatever else it was that was there next to my chair. I got to the teacher’s desk (after bumping into a table) and she says “please dont hurt yourself.” Its stayed with me all week. Not the fact that she said it but the way it was said. It was…unexpected.

I miss highschool. God. I miss using my fucking brain. College is supposed to be challenging, isnt it? All I’ve got so far is a teacher thats convinced I’m going to fail and ridiculously time consuming work. But nothing that makes me feel smart. Nothing that gives me that high I get from learning something new and excelling at it. This isnt new. None of it is. Well, some of it is, but the basic principle behind it all is…stuff I already know. Dont I sound like an arrogant shithead? If I do “know it all” then I should be getting A’s in…everything. <_>…Oh look! I am! So far at least.

Meh.

Whats funny is…whats really “funny” is that even after my going on and on about being smart..all I can honestly say is that…some day I’ll fall flat on my face and..that will be the end of it. Some day soon, I fear.

I have got a portfolio review scheduled for Feb 20th with one uni and the other is as yet not scheduled…I’ve got the application for it though…Somehow..it seems less daunting than I thought at first. My drawing skills have improved drastically. I’ve been thinking visually which is good for my “career” (terrible for my writing). I want to stop thinking about uni for a while…but everything seems to revolve around it now. I guess that would be the “hard” part.

Coherence escapes me. So I cant really compose my thoughts and write a single damn thing worth reading. Not even a creative rant about things. Not even a damn argumentative essay.

*sigh*

On another note – there always seems to be a atrong female vocalist I listen to for a long patch of time. Sometimes months, sometimes years, sometimes alternating between two for years. Well, at the moment its Tori Amos. And I cannot get enough of her voice. Or lyrics. Or music.

And before my internet connection crashes, I shall finish this post with a…

*flourishes*

Gnight.

I just realised…

“erratic sleep pattern” might be an oxymoron…because something thats erratic doesnt have a pattern to it.

I shall shut up now.

Erratic sleep patterns and their cons –

Maybe thats what I should write about.

I came home, watched tv for a bit, wrote the last blog post but went to check on sophie before posting it. I fell asleep while soothing her. Funny.

So I woke up a while back and I am still sleepy and headachey and want to crawl into bed with a nice warm blanket and some good music (hooray limewire!) but then my head goes “You’ve already slept for 7 hours.”

If anyone else had said that, it’d be met with a “so what?” and a fuck you thought silently..after which I’d go back to bed. But since I am not someone else, and I probably have work to do (my mind has been scrambling to come up with something for the past hour) I might stay awake till I have to go to uni and come back and sleep then.

….Or not.

Gnight.

Bits of the Day #I’ve lost track

I’m home! I’m home!

Okay, I’ve been home for a while now, and only left for a few hours but it seemed like a lot. We went to ze fish market (smelly place) with someone and got fresh fish and shrimps and squid. And had it cooked, of course. Then went to the beach and had lunch. I had my hopes up for crab or lobster..or both..but it seems it was not meant for today.

Anyhow, the fish market was a lot more fascinating than one would think. And because of that, I have decided that my final project for photography will be about the fish market. I’ve already got a roll of film so I’ll get at least 4 WONDERFUL photographs from it. Now its just a matter of getting a couple more rolls filled out, developing them and handing in the damn thing on time. I’ve got a month, so, no rush.

I’ve been working on another project all weekend. I call it HELL. Well, no, its about the gradual sophistication of living arrangements…in other words how buildings and shit have changed from the times of Fred Flintstone. Not very scientifically accurate, since its just images that I have drawn. Focusing more on design and shit and it is now finally almost done. All I have to do is apply the finishing touches and it will be ready to hand in first thing 11:00 tomorrow. *wipes brow*

The coming week looks rather promising actually. Aside from this assignment and two tests I’ve got tomorrow, and one on Monday, theres not much else to do the rest of the week. I will, of course, be spending time working on my portfolio and final photography project. I’ve been a smart ass and finished an assignment early so that makes me free-er than I would be. hah.

Is it sad that all I talk about is uni? <_>

In other news…my Art Appreciation teacher is pretty cool. The kind one can have random conversations with. Which is always good. Teacher ratings are coming up after finals. She gets the highest, hands down.

Finals…meh..*shudders*

I cannot wait till semester break. Feb 17th. Hopefully earlier, depending on when my final projects are due. Projects..*shudders again*…

Must get back to revising for test and doing other random shit.

MORE PICTURES

http://s261.photobucket.com/albums/ii79/imaginary256/canada/

More pictures have been added for your viewing (dis)pleasure.

Some stories

never make it to the ending

I am a writer. I do not do pastels. I do not do breathtaking charcoal drawings. I do not do acrylics or water colours or anything vaguely as time consuming. I do not do portfolios full of mediocre artwork that I pretend to love and hold up to the world with proud arms. I simply DO NOT do it.

I am a writer. Not a graphic designer. Not one of those artsy people. Not ANYTHING but a writer. I write. Or atleast..I used to. Not long back, I used to write.

I used to write.

I used to be a writer.

And now? Now I just read. I am a reader. How boring does that sound? A reader.

Art has deprived me of my writery-ness. It has murdered it. I am dead.

I imagine myself, sometimes, in France of the 1890’s. Paris, to be exact. In some dark, dirty street, returning from some glitzy, glamorous show. Not a viewer, mind you, but a performer. I dont know what this has to do with writing. Except maybe that if I were the me of then, I would not be expected to be anything more than simply a performer. I would be exected to be a “failure”, to be of the “lower class”, to be uneducated, intelligent perhaps but not well-read or rounded. I would not be expected to have aspirations and that would be it. That would be the truest form of freedom. Success (in the conventional sense of the word) would be a choice, not a compulsion.

But as it is, I must return to my pastels, charcoal, ink, paintbrushes and whatnot so that I may “succeed”.

Medicine would have been easier, I’m sure. At least I wouldnt have to pretend to enjoy it.

Bits of the Day #I dont give a fuck

Its been a while. With all the must-do’s and have-to-do’s. God. It feels like my head might explode. I have caught a slight sore throat from Sophie..who is sick. Not to the extent of worrying the crap out of everyone…but we worry nonetheless.

I dont really know what to write in this post aside from uni shit. I am, quite frankly, tired of it and was hoping to do something different for this post. Like actually WRITE something. Creativity is dead.

As it is 5:30 am and I still have sketches to make, I shall postpone the heavy writing to when Dr. Frankenstien can manage to bring creativity back to life without the process reversing.

*signs off in uber original, fun way*

Yeah, that should suffice.

Pictures!

http://s261.photobucket.com/albums/ii79/imaginary256/canada/

More to follow.

Pictars

 

More pictures later on

Random Thought

its fucking freezing and the only reason I’m on the computer is because its keeping my lap warm.

I miss my bed.

Ramblings From Nowhere

Its snowing out. Blizzard. And my fingers are freezing. For some reason, the heating wont work properly in here, this room. Its cold. But I’ve got it all to myself. With a book and my mp3 players charging. The small pleasures of life, eh?

So this is a country I’m supposed to move to within an year. Less than, actually. Within a few months. June. To be specific. Six months. It reminds me of Florida and London at the same time. The outskirts and the inner city. It is beautiful. The snow, the dormant trees amidst evergreens and the almost freezing lakes. And the people. We cant possibly forget the people. Courtesy has lost its meaning where I am. Its different here.

But once again I’ve conned myself into believing that I will change in this place.

Settling down is an idea that appeals less to mee each day. A fantasy of mine is to drift around like a hobo – being tere but not really there. Having been everywhere while remaining in the same place. The solitary place within myself that is home. My true home.

But someone called my “I dont care” bullshit the other day, after I claimed I dont want to make a difference in the world and my definition of success differs from that of others. I do care. But who ever heard of hobos making a difference? And do I have to make a difference if I care?

There is one thing I realised during the “discussion”. I prefer to “make a difference” from a distance. I prefer to do everything from a distance. I suppose that conveniently fits me into a cliche. But so far I have found no reason to reduce distance. From a distance I can appreciatate the pattern fine snow makes in the wind. Up-close, I’m far too deep in.

What I dont understand is why this is a problem.

I had this weird dream about a famous guy and two dictors trying to save him. H ad a heart condition. I knew he was dying, he knew he was dying and the doctors knew he was dying. And the only chance to let him live was to cross the distance. He refused to speak, The doctors gave up and he died.

It was a dream though.

I had another where I was swimming toward some people. Family. Our boat had capsized and they had reached shore before I had. And mom shouts to me from the distance “watch out! Those arent dolphins in the water! They’re sharks!” And I cut my foot on some sharp coral underwater.

I woke up. That too was a dream.

There was one more in which I walk down twisting hallways in a castle that looks something of a school I’ve been to and something of a house I remember. In each room plays a memory. I know, in the dream, that it is a memory. I am looking for something frantically in one of those rooms. I do not find it.

I forgot where I was going with all the dreams – a collection of fear charms for my bracelet. I’ve recently taken to wearing wire bracelets with a little tinkling bell on each. A bell that announces my presence in its soft tink-tink. I wear them so I may find my way back home if I wonder away too far.

IMPORTANT NOTICE! (not really)

I’m alive…kinda..busy.

Will disappear for about ten days from now. Trip to Canada. Will update when I’m less brain dead.

Love and hugs.

Bits of the Day #9

Who knew graphic design assignments could be SO FUCKING TEDIOUS?

I sure didnt.

*sigh*

Oh well. Back to work.

Recently Acquired Habits:

Staring at a book

staring at the floor

staring into space

hiding in a bathroom stall

sketching things and then erasing them, then sketching them again

discarding perfectly good ideas

battling with my will on various insignificant things

lying in bed, for the sake of it

writing a lot of blog posts and not posting them

wishing I was somewhere else..like the beach, on a rainy day with a wide angle view lense camera

making lists, like this one, so I feel i’m accomplishing shit

wondering why the hell I’m wasting time

rushing to class, arriving early

staring out windows till the teacher comes.

Disappointments

So the pictures turned out like shit. Utter, utter shit. Theres nothing wrong with focus or exposure (mostly), they’re just badly snapped, framed, angled etc, thanks to me.

The assigment is graded, as is the one I handed in today, which turned out to look like shit as well. So there goes my GPA.

It feels easier to accept defeat and say “fuck it” rather than tell myself I’m not supposed to be good at this stuff because I’m a beginner. But that is SO wrong to say. I AM supposed to be good at this stuff. I’m supposed to be among the best because I’m this creative artistic…failure. I guess it goes like my mom said: You cant become creative by holding a camera.

Thank you for that mom.

I wonder if I’d be better off studying Nursing.

I wonder if this is what’ll happen to my writing once I begin studying it.

I wonder if it even matters. I can just go “back” to being “normal” and (pretend to) forget anything ever existed before. Pretend to not be a failure, pretend to not give a fuck, pretend like I didnt screw myself over.

Pretend, pretend, pretend. Wonderful ideas are just pouring forth now.

(I am okay. This is just one of those self-pittying moments I should kick myself in the head for.)

Bits of the Day #8.2

Assignment status:

Intro to GDES: getting there..kind of..almost..not really

Photography: Complete

Art App: Postponed

Drawing: Incomplete

Friend’s thing: Complete

Dad’s thing: Incomplete

Mom’s thing: Complete

My resume: Incomplete

Other tiny random shit: complete

I’m tired

Bits of the Day #8.1

Assignment status:

Intro to GDES: 1/3rd complete, 2/3rds pending

Photography: 1/6ths complete

Drawing: (just realised I had it) incomplete

Art Appreciation: in progress

Friend’s thing: incomplete

So I just realised I had a drawing assigment. I also realised I can postpone my Art App. reading till Saturday, which gives me a weee bit more time today to complete other random shit…like getting a cat and buying shoes that wont leave my feet in ruins.

Oh well. We shall see. I have a whole 15 hours to do all of this.

Bits of the Day #8

We went to two pet shops today. There was a kitten the size of my hand. Filled it up like I was holding a ball of fluff. Grey, blue eyes, expensive. I might buy him with my first paycheck if I dont find another by the next weekend. Beautiful little thing.

Assignment status:

photography – not done

intro to GDES – incomplete

friend’s thing – not done

art appreciation – not done

Beautiful things are worth the trouble. But I must slave away now.

Out of Touch

is the new “in” thing.

As are these little blurb things. Get used to them.

Bits of the Day! Again! #7

Yes, I am alive. Just insanely busy.

I completed a photography assignment just yesterday (pictures were horrible). I have an intro to GDES assignment due the coming Saturday and its a long ass time-consuming thing. I have to practice shadowing by hatching for my basics of drawing class (trust me, hatching is shit hard) and I have to write a friend’s personal statement. I also have to ready samples of my written “work” for a person who may be able to help me publish, and for a job I’m going to apply for by (hopefully) the end of today. I just need to finalise my resume and take a deep breath. And I have an english class thats taking up a good three hours of my week (UGH!). Never before has time been so precious.

I had my first drama club meeting today and (as usual) have taken up the technical side of things. I will now be editing music and shit for the plays the club will put on. The photography club is *still* not up and running, and I completely forgot to hunt down another club’s supervisor today.

In positive news, my Geometry teacher will be absent for ten more days.

In negative news, we will have extra classes after school hours when she gets back.

In other news, we still dont have a cat.

Thats all folks!

(I know, I am abusing Bits of the Day. If its any consolation, I havent written worthwhile shit in months…not that anyone cares)

Bits of the (second/first-ish) Day (at uni) #6

So I’m sitting in English class and thinking “sombody please kill me…” and the teacher goes “yes, thats correct.” Of course, she was responding to another girl, that oh-so-cleverly stated that each paragraph in an essay needs a topic sentence. Yes, that is what made me want to die. I’m sitting in a class full of morons and being taught “english rhetoric and composition” by a complete imbecile. And this class takes up three precious hours of my week, god knows how many weeks in my first semester. In other words, three credit hours worth of excruciatingly painful, scream-inducing torture. And guess who cant bunk classes? 15% of my overall grade goes into attendance and participation. Hoorah! >_> morons.

Aside from that, the only other class that actually took place was “Introduction to graphic design”..and..we dont use computers. At all. -__- yes, we “design” by hand. A little ridiculous? A little VERY ridiculous? Meh. I am now waiting to see how my “art appreciation” teacher slaughters my enthusiasm.

*sigh*

Helliday

So I’m off to the airport in 45 minutes. I spent 15 on the computer. Shame on me I’ve got stuff packed (WOOHOO!) and I will be back in 17 days.

I hope my presence is missed

Take care everyone! And I’ll catch you all when I do.

Bye ^^

PS: Yes, I will have pictures and there will be a details account of the insides of hell posted when I get back. IF I’m alive after I get stuff from the first weef of uni started. *cough*

Um..I should go

Bits of the Day #5

So I dont really have a lot of time. I’m supposed to be asleep but since no ones home and I am grounded (again) I thought I’d sieze the opportunity and make a post.

I’ve come down with somewhat of a flu/throaty thing. Perfect timing, really. But its not bad. Quite livable actually.

Almost all gifts have been bought for our trip (hooray!) and now all thats left is the packing.

Teh haircut turned out not to be a disaster, in case anyone wanted to know.

Aside from that, not a lot thats been happening.

Except…I think I’ve lost my writeriness. Probably havent but..yeah.

And the site I use to send text messages is down >_>

Better be off to bed now.

Bits of the Day #4

I’m going to misuse this category a bit more till my flight (in 4 days) because I feel like it and no one can stop me. Hah.

So I’ve put together a to-do list and it doesnt amount to much worth doing at the moment. But its still shit that must be done. So sigh. I will be going for a hair cut now, at 1am. No, seriously, I have an appointment at 1 am. Mhm. So lets hope it doesnt turn out to be a disaster. I dont want my hair shortened. And if the hair-dresser does chop off some length, I shall do the same to the lady’s neck.

I’ve got another appointment-ish thing for eye refraction or whatever its called for new glasses, thats in the afternoon at 1pm. And then a stupid lunch thing to attend around 6ish.

I put together a book/writer list for the bookstore raiding I plan to do in Pakistan (alright, you got me, its not hell). And somebody threw it. Or at least, misplaced it. So I cant find it. So I have to make one all over again. And add to it, because it wasnt complete. (suggestions welcome)

And I streamed a movie last night and someone had closed the window by the time I woke up. So hurray >_> I didnt get to watch that either.

So thats enough whining for the day. Maybe more when I get back later tonight.

This busy, mismatched schedule is a pain in the ass. I think karma thought my neck had had enough.

I shall now go feel guilty for having whined.

Holidays are supposed to be FUN! *frustrated angry face*

Bits of the Day #3

So I spent the last more than an hour answering questionnaires for research studies because I’m bored as fuck. Tomorrow morning (today, afternoon) I will be beating myself up about this because I have a novel to read, stuff to decide, stuff to draw, a room to clean, a medicine drawer to arrange (oh shit! I totally forgot about that and its too late now!), shoes to photograph (oh shit again!), some ideas to put to paper, emails to reply, poems and short stories to critique and generally, more important stuff to do.

Oh, and I’m getting lazy with this Bits of the Day category and not writing artistically. Shame on me!

Today, I woke up at 5pm, went out for a lunch-ish thing, came home, got a shopping list and went back out shopping and came home, had dinner and spent the rest of my time doing just about nothing. There are 6 days left before our flight (to hell) and two weeks to spend there (okay, not hell, but something close). And I have to do shit before I go.

*sigh*

Lazy, lazy, lazy me.

And now I shall go to bed. And toss and turn. And eventually..perhaps, hopefully, fall asleep.

Bits of the Day #2

So today I went to uni and laughed at the registrar. Well, not exactly. I surpassed her (stupid excuse of some semblance of) “power” and went over to the program director (hehehehehe) and got all my courses and schedules sorted out. So I’ve dropped the useless health science course I was being forced to take, and taken up a photography course instead. Woohoo!

In other news, I bought really pretty shoes. Like really really pretty.

And..um..I have to prepare for a party tomorrow at our place.

And…thats about it

I feels gooood ;D

Bits of the Day #1

I’m starting this category for a friend (you know who you are ). I shall be posting relatively less depressive bits of the day so people can stay posted. Enjoy

“Life just kind of empties out
Less a deluge than a drought
Less a giant mushroom cloud
Than an unexploded shell
Inside a cell
Of the Lennox Hotel”

~ Little Bombs, Aimee Mann.

Thats what I was listening to just now.

The site for uni is down, so I cant plan what courses I have to register for before I go to register tomorrow. I guess I’ll have to plan it all out when I get there. Thats about the only significant thing thats happened today

Time to get to bed.

Haven’t got a title for this one.

This is going to be one of those boring, self-involved posts. The makers of this post are not responsible for aggravated levels of frustration or boredom caused by the reading of this post.

So I’m confused as all fuck and I cant decide what I feel because theres a fucking lot of feeling going on. I’m pissed off, predominantly. Then guilty for being pissed off and not helping instead. I’m afraid that if I do help, I’ll be setting myself up for a fall but then maybe thats not the worst thing that could happen. I’ve fallen before, gotten up with (more than) a little help, dusted off and..sort of, somewhat moved on. So maybe it doesnt matter if I get hurt in the process as long as things get better.

But I dont want to be the main participant in this fixing marathon. Being the main participant means being bombarded from three sides while being backed up against a wall of responsibility and loyalty and whatever the fuck else. But again, does it matter? Yes it does. It matters a fuckload. Because being in the middle means openning up too, explaining scary things. Distance will not be maintainable. And then after all that, we’ll be right back where we started and they’ll laugh at the mention of psychological distress and I’ll shut up and seethe internally.

I dont want a relationship. I’m perfectly fine living this way, with minimal contact, untill I move out of the house and have to visit on holidays only. And I really dont want to work through my fucking fears before working through someone elses. Yes, I’m afraid I’ll get hurt, which is why I dont want a relationship. Heck, I’m not afraid, I’m certain I’ll get hurt. And I’ve made my peace with that. So why revive conjoured demons?

I’m not a good enough person. I dont want to be the rock, the helper, the…whatever. I’m a coward and I like it that way. And right now I’m thinking of a way to extricate myself from the situation, and lets say I succeed in doing so. What then? Then am I responsible for the ruined lives of four people? Am I guilty of abandoning people in need and is it wrong of me to do so? I dont know. I’m torn between..doing the right thing and doing what feels right. I dont want to be the goddamn rock.

Self-absorbedness

The day sucks when all you do is sleep.

No really, thats all I did. Really. Aside from cooking, getting exhausted to the point of nausea and taking care of sophie during said exhaustion. But the little tyke was sleepy too, thank god.

So now I have a math admission test, and I’m mildly hungry. I also felt like randomly posting about my day in plain prose instead of riddles. Rejoice.

I shall now go eat and drink and draw and sleep.

This blog has, as expected, turned into a whiney place instead of one dedicated to writing.

But who gives a fuck as long as its done in style, eh?

2:44am

I’m waiting for the day to end, so I can give the goddamn test tomorrow, come home, collapse in bed and not get up for a good 8 to 10 hours. I want the goddamn weekend to pass so I can give the other goddamn test and get over with all this fuckload of stuff to do so I can stay holed up in my room for longer every day.

That is why all these posts are timed.

~-~

Its too much. All of it. And now I just want it to stop. No more trying to feel better, no more pretending to feel better. I want it to be over. Everything. All of it, all of this, all of me. Over. Finished.

Nothing works. I’m out of stuff to do and I’m tired of hearing myself say I dont know. I’m tired of talking about it and I’m tired of being tired and I’m just fucking fed up.

I dont think I can get through this. University, I mean. The pressure…that no one else seems to feel. It gets harder to breathe, to keep my hands still, to remember not to fall back into myself and to tell myself to come out if I do. I cant keep doing this. I’m too tired to fight. I’m just so tired. And I want to be able to breathe without it seeming like another chore.

If I could shut it and grow the fuck up, I would. But I cant seem to. I’m trying. I am, really. And then my chest tightens and all I feel is impending doom.

I have to fix this.

-~-

Mistakes.

I have been going over mine. Little, human mistakes. Misunderstandings that got brushed aside, or sorted. Insignificant mistakes, made in front of strangers I will never see again.
There is guilt somewhere that I didn’t allow myself to feel in those moments. And it comes back now. The guilt of being human.

It is tiring to remain in check. Tiring to carry meaningless guilt. Tiring to want to apologise for every little slip up. Tiring to doubt. Tiring to try and be above human.

But isnt that how it always is? A perpetual game of Hide and Seek. I hide behind my metaphors too. It is much easier to talk about drifting leaves than to say I am that leaf. I am that torn petal. I am small, insignificant, out of control. And there is no seeker in this game.

—

So wonderfully fucked.

The incomplete application is testament to it.

Part of me thinks I’ll end up like those wasted, pathetic, disfunctional people that’re so fucked, all they’re doing is wasting the worlds resources.

The other part of me is convinced I’ve already become such.

Two days to get my shit together. Theres still a chance. More than a chance.

I am better now. Writing. I need to do more of it.

If I could just sit here and type…forever.

Time to get back to life —

The circle of life and other shittiness

Days pass by in a haze. Theres nothing worth remembering except how turned to mush my brain feels. And nothing to do except whine about it. And then whine about whining about it.

The nightmares are the only excitement I have, aside from the wonderful moments I spend fantasising about death. And there is so much stuff to do and yet… And yet I simply whine about having nothing to do. I do have things to do. So many, many things. So many important, future-deciding things, but quite frankly I’m more than sick of it. I’m fucked either way.

And talking doesnt help. And I’m too fucking lazy to try and write and to uninspired for it to come without effort. All I can manage are half-assed rants like this one, that I am secretly harbouring hope, will help me feel a teeny bit better, enough to fill in the fucking university application and get all this shit done and over with.

And all of me hurts and i think I might be coming down with something because my throat is scratchy too, and part of me is so fucking glad because I’ll have something physical to blame for my shit attitude aside from shitty-attitude-equipped self.

And I want to go to bed, but when I go to bed I cant sleep. When I do sleep, I wake up feeling like shit, regardless of how many hours I sleep. So this has nothing to do with sleep or lack of it. I actually think i function better when I sleep an hour or two a day. When I have things to do..things to make my stupid frivolous unimportant worthless life a little less of all that and a little more useful. But I do have things to do. I have a lot of things to do. Just…no fucking will to do any of it.

So you see? I’m running around in circles here. Imperfect, oblong, haphazard circles, but circles nonetheless. Stupid fucking circles. Heres to a new meaning for “the circle of life”.

Morbidity abounds

Death by asphyxiation. Self- asphyxiation.

Its possible, isn’t it? To want to die enough to suffocate yourself with a pillow. Practice, though, is what makes all the difference. Practice and determination.

How many times have you held a pillow to your face?
Once?

Once is enough. Enough to calculate the precise moment you will cease to exist.

The human body is stunningly resilient, did you know? You don’t use all the oxygen you breathe. The composition of air at sea level is roughly 21% Oxygen, 78% Nitrogen, 1% everything else. The air you exhale contains 14-16% Oxygen, and your body can survive on it. Albeit weak, weary and on the verge, but your body can survive.

Your hands will eventually ease off the pillow, and every breath you take from then will be stolen. Every moment will be a crime and there will be no defense against your want of pulling the pillow down on yourself again. And every time, seconds before the human panic sets in, you’ll realize you are within the vicinity of peace.

Anywhere

I feel like I’m 8. I’ve decided to run away from home. But I cant think of anywhere to go. The bags are packed, with my stuffed toys and few clothes, and I’m ready to bolt… But I cant think of Anywhere.

I remember guilt. When I was 5. or 6. I wrote a letter starting “Dear Papa,” and told him I was sorry. I didnt know how to spell “know”. Didnt know the word guilt even existed. But I knew “sorry” and I knew I was. I remember the school day – my uniform; my friends (that girl with the pink plastic framed glasses and the boy with curly brown hair). They didnt know how to spell “know” either. So we decided on “no”.

I feel like I’m 8. Powerless, confused, scared, angry. Hurt. I feel like I’m 8 and I’ve decided to run away from home.

But I cant think of Anywhere.

Sleep-deprived ramblings

If I’m taking the goddamn risk, why not go all out and try to become a fucking writer?! Thats something I can actually DO..as apposed to..fuck. No, not fuck. I mean as apposed to draw and paint and shit. Or maybe thats the whole point. Reverse psychology. Give me all the options and watch me choose the “right” one..

Its not that. I’m sick of this. I dont want any of it. ANY of it. I’d rather live in a bloody freaking hole and rot to death. Okay, maybe not. But fuck. Whatever I choose, theres that condescension..that “look at what you’re doing with your smart brain” and then the “yeah, I guess she wasnt all that smart anyways” and the “what a waste of a life” and the “you’ll starve to death, then make money after you die”. You know, I could stage my own death. It’d be funny. Ironic. Like I’d go through that much trouble.

But nothings right. Nothing is fucking right and I might just as well give it all up and do a freaking BSc or whatever the fuck its called. Its not supposed to be this hard to get a fucking grip but oh look! It is! Surprise surprise, look who fucked up again. Yep, me. Wooo! There should be some sort of an award for this sort of thing. Or maybe a guiness book record.

And you realise…*I* realise that after all this shit about being creative and artistic, my artistic abilities amount to shit. Much like…everything else I’ve done with my life. Or..not done. Basically…not done.

But I have an year. An year to fuck up worse. And then actually have an excuse to give up, conform, reproduce and die.

I know how to work this out. I do know. I do. I know how to work this out.

And hell, if I KNEW I could, if I had even a vague fucking idea of how to do this shit, I would. Not how to work it out. I know how. I learn how to do the shit, thats how. But fuck…whats the point? Whats the fucking point?

What is this wonderfully elusive point that every goddamn living person knows. Rhetorical.

Its…rhetorical. Because of course, no one has the answer. And everybody has the answer. But its not my answer. Not MY point. I have no point. Heh. Extend that to “There is no point to me” and voila!

Funny how one supposed fuck up comes to this. Its always very, very funny.

A Rant About Nothing

I’m overwhelmed.

I have to contact a few universities, make the resume I have been putting off for about a month now, and put together a portfolio for an internship/possible job at a design magazine. I dont even know if they’re looking for an editor or a designer. But I have an appointment. At 2. On Saturday. Thats 3 days away. Should be enough time to put together enough impressive shit.

As for the universities, I dont even know where I stand academically. I havent got my O level reselts back yet, and though…I’m “smart” and a “good student”, being realistic (not self depreciating) I havent got the slightest idea of how I’ll do. And anything below 6 A*s and 2 As is a failure. Hoora.

Doing things is daunting. I’ve managed to make a habit out of putting things off till they absolutely have to be done. I’m scared, but who isnt? Its no excuse. But what if I fall flat on my face and make a fool out of myself? I’ve never done that before. Ever. Not even at school. I feld school. Home-studied, never answered calls, never called back. Still dont. And dont intend to.

I feel as though I’m repeatedly being given a kick in the pants, to get a head start working toward a “happy” life. I do need a kick in the pants, with this attitude I’ve got. But my behind refuses to budge. Drive and Determination have gone down the crapper. Or maybe they’re just hiding behind it.Either way, I cant see ‘em. Confidence and I had a fight. It hasnt spoken to me since. I’m too much of an idiot to apologise and win back its favours.

Oh…well.

Twitting…

I’m not one to adore a bird’s twittering. I rather dislike it. Its like an irritating alarm that I cant turn off or snooze. Its a call that brings me back to the here and now from my pleasant dreams (day or otherwise, usually daydreams).

But, anyhow, a friend and I have signed up for Twitter accounts.

Here’s mine: http://twitter.com/gindeloon

Henjoy.

Acceptance

I have the application form for university next to me. I’ve chosen something..mildly artistic..somewhat acceptable…a compromise mid-way. I’m sick of compromises but its either half or nothing. Seems like it always is. Oh well.

I dont know what to fill out in this form thats supposed to represent my academic competence. I have not yet received the results for my IGCSE exams (due August 10th) and I am now looking at the scheduled dates for my personality test + interview + TOEFL + math placement test in September so I can get a scholarship..to make my choice of profession more acceptable.

Acceptance is everything, is it not?

Incoherent Babble

5:18 – Random thoughts and thought process

You speak of death as if it is a blessing that will release you.

The sentence cycles around itself. It is a beginning and an end…and it commands to be put on paper…put to something that will do it justice… that will tell of the meaning behind it. It stands alone and yet MUST be put to words…to more words.

The fucking thing haunts me. And I’m not good enough a writer to spin a story around it. But I cannot let it sit. No brewing. No simmering… it must be written.

You speak of death as it is a blessing that will release you.

I see hair, dark, soft, falling on a silken pillow, head sinks in, blur.

Fade to black.

Morning – it comes…

Ah..the story comes.

The powers of talking shit out are under-rated.

Untitled

Shafts of light fall through and spill onto the floor from beneath the curtains. It is day. Not dawn, not early morning. It is close to noon.

I hear her waking me up every time I close my eyes to rest, in her usual commanding voice. Startled awake from my half-sleep, I look around and she isn’t there. It happens again. And again. I expect her to come in and tell me of the various things that I must do even when I am awake. Calling it a waiting game would be an understatement.

Coming to my wit’s end is not an option. I must obey. She is in control. I am not.

I have made her a monster in my head. I have embellished details, perhaps. Seen the bad, forgotten the good. But it is her that wakes me up now. And waking up is a chore in itself.

I have forgotten how it was when I was younger. Maybe that is why we’ve come to this. I have forgotten many things. Many, many things I know I should remember. That are there, somewhere, in boxes and trunks hidden under white sheets that have gathered dust and turned to gray. A long while ago I packed shit to leave. Somewhere along the way the habit took on a life of its own. Now I just pack shit, and I dont know why. Its all there, somewhere, insignificant, unimportant, dusty, unwanted, carelessly wrapped, gotten rid of. Parks, phone numbers, faces, names, parties, events, random recollections of funny incidents with the family, on the sofa, laughing.

At least, that’s what I imagine it to be.

Self-Revelation

She whispers softly to herself the words that were placed inside her. Words that could not have come from her. Words that did not belong to her, but were, somehow, hers.
Relief is something rarely come by, she has learnt – but as long as she commits her own words to paper, she will be okay.

I keep talking of myself in third person. Its easier this way. I can step outside myself, outside of the situation and escape all blame, guilt, shame, anger and whatever else may be. It is easier for me to discover things about other people, than it is to discover things about myself. We are, somehow, expected to know ourselves. It is one of the many expectations I don’t fulfill. By referring to myself as she, her, it, you, they, I distance myself. I am light-years away before I realize I am – like I’m in a space craft on autopilot.

There here-and-now scares me Fear is not something I like to deal with, so I flee, then complain about the meaninglessness of this and pointlessness of that. At times I believe it really is all pointless. It is at those times I am most disconnected. Half the time I do not even know what I’m saying, stopping mid-sentence, having completely lost the ability to form a coherent sentence. Then there comes this odd aching in my head. Its almost always there, almost always threatening to blow into this huge headache that’ll make me cringe at the slightest sound and eventually end with a regurgitation of more than just my dinner. At times I wish it would, so the dull ache would stop for a few hours, in which I may rest. At other times the odd ache just spreads down to my throat, and then lower, till I can feel it in my chest, pressing against my lungs so each breath is a step closer to suffocating and my heart beats like it may break out of my ribcage. This is my reaction – my space ship is burning up in the Earth’s atmosphere.

Fear, I have come to realize, is one of the most influential demons in the Senatus de Cranium *coughcough* that governs my actions.

You must know, however, that I am not accustomed to fear. I love the dark, crave dangerous rides, do things for the thrill and will be the first to jump into a shrubbery at night to fetch a ball that has somehow managed to wind up in its deepest, darkest, most prickly division. Bugs do not bother me much – I feel guilty for crushing ants and even cockroaches – and most large animals, I have at some point in my life considered as pets (even snakes). There are few things I know I am afraid of, and I know precisely why. Or, have at least come up with a satisfactory enough/incomplete but partially correct explanation for all of my fears. Life has recently been added to the list, and it remains, as yet, unexplained.

You may wonder, if a fear can be explained, then why do I not solve it? Some fears cannot be solved, others I wish to not solve. My fear of thought is of the latter category. Yes, I fear thought itself. I have successfully blotted out most thought by persistent, religious, and almost compulsive use of an mp3 player. You will find one plugged into my ears at all times. If an mp3 player is not present, there will be music, somewhere, somehow, songs, with words to focus on, distracting me fro myself. In idle mind is the devils playground…or some such saying. The devil is me, and I’m a little too tired to play.

In truth, this post is a revelation, a confession and a declaration all wrapped up into a big jumble of words that have got tangled up in their mess enough to dodge the prying thought yet again –

Why the fuck am I afraid of life?

Poem about something

Light filters through the curtains as I write this. Another miserably failed attempt to sleep.

I can’t decide what to write about anymore, much like my inability to speak of or about anything.

I just deleted a piece.

Words come and go
as lovers and soul-mates that weren’t
as green grass that fades
to gold then yellow
and eventually
dies

words come and go as the days pass
to night
as I stare at the twilight of my dawn
and hope there was
time

(Poem will be edited..and worked upon… That came out of no where)

E-mails

Are very convenient.

Not so whiney, and yet -

I have written a lot recently, read a lot and generally communicated a lot in a lot of forms.

I’m exhausted as hell. And my head feels like it’ll split open and spill its contents on the table. Or at least, exert enough pressure on my eye to pop it out of its socket and onto the keyboard.

In all honesty, I’m not satisfied with what I have written. It is distant, blunt, and involves no structural or strategic innovation. Basically most of it is a rant I have written to merely content myself with the fact that I have written. *What* i have written is, however, not taken into consideration.

And now I am paying for it.

I have written but feel no release. And now am too spent to perform a catharsis all over again. Wonderful, innit?

I need to write something beautiful, spin a story, a poem, a little snapshot of a time and place and all those in it. I need to write *creatively*, make up things, make believe…
but I’m afraid. I start writing something of the sort, stop, go back and delete what I have written then carry on with some other task.

Must work through this. And must write something worthwhile.

Must also make resume and find job..and..other..stuff.

*sigh*

Whine, part 2

5:40am

I have stuff to do at 2 pm. If I sleep now, I wont wake up in time to do said stuff. There is then stuff at around 5. By the time I’m free with stuff at 2, it will be time for stuff at 5. By the time I am done with stuff at 5 and have recovered from both the stuffs at 5 and 2, and the stuff in between, I will have to get ready for the wedding at 9. The wedding lasts till around 1am, maybe more.

I *already* hate today >_> Not even 6 hours in.

I’ve decided what to wear, how to wear it, and what to do fo my hair but my brain dear god my brain is proving to be a problem, because apparently the “extra” 3 kg I have on me isnt supposed to be there.

I could do some brain exercises but I’m afraid muscle is heavier than fat >_> so it wouldnt really work.

I’m rambling. Rambling is fun. It keeps my mind going. I’m tired. I want to sleep. I cant sleep. I have a book I want to read. A bath to take. I should stop rambling now and go lay down before someone catches me but this is oh so much fun Its funny how, when the words come out, they dont mean shit. It rarely happens and yet here it is, clickety click click and nothing.

I dont care, I’m going to bed.

And not sleeping.

Hah.

A great big whine >_>

3:57pm

Sleepy. Of all things. I feel sleepy.

And tired. And possibly dehydrated. I havent had water in about a week…or more. Diet coke tastes much better. I should have water…soon some time.

I hate the word soon. I keep putting everything off till “soon”. I have a lot to do. “Soon”.

I seem to be incapable of thinking in a coherent manner. Or writing in one. I’m just writing. Stuff.

I’ve been listening to “In Your Room” by Depeche Mode lately. Its one track and its on repeat. The lyrics are amazing. Well, not *amazing* but well done, with so many meanings. Basically they are vague, so you can draw your own meaning from them.

“We dont see things as they are. We see them as we are.”

~ Anais Nin

Link to song:

In Your Room – Depeche Mode

I’M SLEEPY!!!!! V_V
Right in the middle of the day. With so much to do and yet here I am repeating myself like I have nothing else to do.

*yawnsigh* I hate today >_>

A Message From the Universe?

This has happened twice in a row, on two separate days. I was browsing blogs and a message shows up saying:

Sorry, you’re looking for something that isn’t here.

Irony? Truth? A sign of sorts?

Whatever it is, its quite fitting. Now if it could only tell me which of the many things I’m looking for arent here.

Absolute shit.

I feel myself becoming someone I’m not. I’m angry. Almost all the time. At almost everyone and everything. And when I’m not angry, I’m apathetic. When its not that, I feel like I’ll break into sobs any second but I’m usually too tired to. Its not fun. My head wont stop hurting again.

I want to change things. Redecorate my room, with curtains painted with my paint and my hands and my art, reassemble the bunk-bed, repaint the shelf and prop it upright… I want a new rug. A new look. I’m sick of this old dump. I’m sick of being sick of things. Its like one of those feelings thats so overwhelming, all you can think of is how nauseated and dizzy you are. Nothing reflects me anymore. To be fair, nothing ever did. I want that to change but I dont know how.

I have three parties coming up. One with class-mates from a school I abhored, simply because I wasnt sure which one of the many me’s I wanted them to see. They saw the moody, reclusive, book-worm side of me mostly.

The second one is with people I have, you could say, grown up with. 6 years is quite a bit, considering I’m 16. They’re people I used to love, used to share things with and go to when all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out because XYZ shouted at me. I dont like being shouted at. They saw mostly the kid me. And then I grew up..and they didnt. Mind you, I never was like them. Oddly. Never wanted to be. But somehow knew that I had to be. So, anyways, they clung to their superficial view of the world, of music, art, people, whatever. They talked about boys, went ga-ga over them and sent love letters and wrote their crushes’ names over and over in the back of their copy books in math class. I thought they were stupid. But then they all grew up a liiiittle bit. Gossiped about eachother, the teachers, celebrities, anything that had a pulse and moved. I thought they were stupid. By this time they started seeing a lot of the moody, reclusive, book-worm side of me too. But I was still well-liked. Rats.

At times I envy them, the stupid ones. The ones that didnt grow up as fast as I did. I feel I’m missing out on something..more specifically the something that was supposed to be in place of the big chunk of my life I spent wishing to god I was dead because it hurt too much to sleep or eat or stay awake or do anything other than want to die. And then I began to wonder if god existed at all.

Anyhow, the third party is part of a wedding ceremony – the wedding of a filthy piece of shit and an unfortunate 19 year old girl. Knowing his tastes, first hand, I’m sure he’s pleased.

I’m a social hermit. I dont like big parties. I like one-on-one conversations. I like to know *people* and not their facades. I like knowing whats special to them, what isnt, what makes thier day and how they are. I like knowing I am an indespensible part of their life as they are of mine. And if I dont find the possibility of such a relationship, I dawn my own facade and run circles around them with idle conversation.

I then hate myself for it. For lying so openly. Not saying “I dont think I could like you, ever. I’d rather read a book.” I hate myself for begining to enjoy myself in the lie, beginning to believe it. I am happy. See? I’m smiling. And laughing and talking about that person’s dress and that person’s hairstyle, and how wonderful school’s going and how I loved having a chat with you. We should catch up some time again. This was fun.

I dont think I have it in me to have 3 parties in a row, then come home and deal with immature grown-up kids. Theres a shouting contest at the dinner table each night. And in the car. And in the living room, and the study, and every conceivable place at every conceivable time. And they just dont put a sock in it. And then, tight lipped and tense, they spend quality time together, and ask me to join them so they can pretend to themselves what a wonderfully functional family we are.

Oh the irony – “Shiney happy people holding hands” REM.

I want a change. I dont want constant reminders of what I have separated myself from. It wasnt a mistake. I dont want history being thrown hard in my face every time I look up. I want to feel safe without the door locked, to not be on my tip-toes, to not feel like I’m responsible and failing miserably. I am failing miserably.

*cue apocalypse*

(untitled)

Alright, the gloves come off now. The whole point of this blog was to stop self-censoring and I have been doing the exact opposite of that. From now on, there is no though too trivial and no topic too mundane for me to wrap melodrama around. And so I begin, a post everyday, be it shitty or otherwise…

~*~

Initiating Melodrama:

I’m tempted to begin this with an epic statement that somehow challenges the foundation of several baseless but nevertheless intense beliefs of mine. I’m particularly fond of those. A small, 7-syllable sentence that goes something like “I learned of life today,” Or death, or loss, or love, or trees. But the truth is – epic statements get old, fast. Sure, they’re fun to play with, to transform, shape, mold, whatever, great for adding a big shock-factor to your piece…but they do get old. Like in all those crappy “suspense” novels where the person least expected is the criminal or culprit.

And so, I choose to begin this with a lecture on writing techniques, it seems. Its an opening that never fails.

I forget where I was going with this. I forget where I’m going a lot.

… Ah! I remember now. Its nowhere.

Hello world! <– (UGH! I *do not* say that!)

Something tells me I should make my first post memorable and..fun..or..something.

I dont really do that. So, you’ll kinda have to live with a shitty, boring first post, so I can try out the custom settings and such of teh blog and edit ze stylesheet if I have to, ’cause I can.

So thats about it.