Now what?

Alright I admit that I need to grow up. 

I've given up my stubborn illusions about my current state, and admit that I act and behave like a big overgrown and spoilt baby.

Having said that, now what? How do I start growing up?

So Wrong, So Right

There is something so wrong with me, or something so right with me. Either way, it means trouble for the world. Funnily, it also means the world is trouble.

If I'm as wrong as I think and know that I am, that means Me, unleashed and on a rampage, means trouble on so many levels for the rest of the world. Sticks and bones I may not wield, but words, contrary to popular belief can hurt so much. Unleashed, unfettered, and deranged, I use all the wrong wors to say the wrong things, at all the wrong moments to effect a destruction that has all the elements of an emotional and relational doomsday. I am have the equivalent mighty destructiveness of a Decepticon, but a lot less cool, and a lot more deadly. If I'm considered alright by normal standards and everyone out there is every bit as deranged as I am and even more, then it won't be along before we all blow each other up and leave mindless, soulless dust where we used to inhabit.

Either way, it seems we are all in a lot of trouble.

Damn these people

Am I the only one who feels afraid?

Everywhere I turn I seem to see self-assured and confident people going about their way with such purpose and confidence. They look like they're going places and they look like they know exactly how to get to the place that they want to go, no sweat, easy peasy.

They look like they have a check-list and timeline all planned out, checking milestones on their to-do list, and nodding assuredly, murmuring to themselves, "1 down, only xx more to go."

They know all the right answers to all the questions, and all the right things to say and the right times to say it - with the right tone and the right words with just the correct amount of jest.  

Their effort seems effortless; they take 5 minutes to learn what the rest of us can't even begin to wrap our brains around. They are socially adept, and loved by all, even by the toothy security guard who speaks Martian. (These people will somehow be able to speak an alien language that nobody even knew existed.)

They work hard and play hard, surviving on merely fresh air and water; they don't eat or drink unhealthy food, in fact, they cook and pack their own food.

They work, play, cook, personally change the diapers of their half-a-dozen model-looking offsprings, and manage to there's-never-enought-time-we-just-have-to-make-time to go to the gym.

I hate these insufferable people for making it look so easy something that is so damn hard.


In fact, these wonder people can save the world with a snap of their perfect fingers. Why drag me and my ineptness, inaptitude and my reluctance to do non-Zynga work into the picture?

Now leave me and my grumpy lazy ass alone.

"Are you ok?"

"Are you ok?"

Am I ok?

My knee-jerk response is, I'm not sure whether I'm ok. What on earth does "feeling ok" feels like? If "feeling ok" is what I think it feels like to feel ok, then I'm not ok. 

In fact, I've never been ok. Ok, maybe once in that rare perfect moment that almost never happens, when the moment is perfect, you feel perfect on the inside and on the outside, you feel like things could not be better and there's nothing absolutely else you want, or nowhere else you'd rather b, or no else else you'd rather be, and no other food/drink/weather/location you'd rather be doing/feeling/thinking/touching.

Who in hell ever feels ok? There's always something wrong, something lacking, something that's missing, that's lacking, a worry that's nagging you, a something you've forgotten, a niggling at the back of your mind, something you're kicking yourself for doing or saying and something you're kicking yourself for not doing and saying.

It's always never ok.

So I'm not ok.

Honourable Relationships

Rare is a connection between two people filled with mutual respect without mutual suspicion.

More often than not, when 2 people get together to do something together, there's wariness and defensive on both sides to ensure the self-preservation of each one against the other.

Even when a certain trust has been established, most partnerships are fraught with the mine fields of having two distinct personalities, styles, values and beliefs, characters find a common understanding amidst an intimate working relationship. Indeed, rare is the relationship that most will consider ideal, that of complementary-ness, they are almost able to function as a single whole, so in tune are they to each other they function as an ambidextrous entity. And yet there is the inimitable and what I'll deem the perfect and divine partnership where two people, put together are able to multiple their own as well as each other's capabilities, skills and talents so the sum of the 2 parts is more than greater than the multiplication of the 2 parts even.

Now that is what I call divine. 

Words

If I'm too far away to touch you, maybe my words can....

Write, damn it, write!

I'm not a writer. I never was, I'm not one now, and I never will be one.


So that settles it. I'm not a writer, I don't want to be a writer, and I'm not trying to be a writer, never mind how much I like reading; that's a totally separate thing altogether.


But I want to be able to write. Because I need to be able to write in order to give shape and depth to the spontaneous and uncatchable thoughts which are frequently the off-tangent offshoots of normal thoughts. 


I need to be able to write to capture some of that, what I call for a lack of a better word, "seed thoughts"; thoughts that may be seeds that have the potential to blossom or grow, possibly into a fruitful apple tree which others will enjoy feeding off, or maybe even grow into a Venus fly trap or a foul-smelling plant, there's really no telling.


But like I said, there's really no telling, as to what may come off of those seed thoughts. Some of them may turn up to be the start of some stupendously brilliant or new project, idea or whatever, who's to say.


I need to be able to write because otherwise I have no way of further developing a body to that seed thought. My mind is so pathetically fleeting and uselessly flimsy and flippant that it can't hold possibilities or potentialities or eventualities, much less hold water. So I need to force, make, train, discipline myself to give form and shape to tentative initials. 


I need to write, to face my fears. For the longest time I've always been reluctant to relinquish power, because knowledge is power, in my writings and I don't want people to know me better than I know myself. Funnily, it's this same self-absorption that is preventing me from seeing that people already know what I am and they actually know me more than I know myself. I've been so intent on hiding that I've become less than subtle in my attempts to hide you see. (That's how not to play hide-and-seek.) The irony is that my own actions are causing the very reactions and repercussions that is my greatest fear. Irony? Or maybe more stupidity. Anyway, it's become embarrassingly ludicrous. The only to restore balance is to upset the very apple cart that I'm trying to keep balanced. Don't ask me the rationale behind it at this point of time; I don't know what is the logic, but I just know I need to upset the ridiculous house of cards that I've managed to build. As to what happens next, well we'll see.


I write for the sake of trying to do something I know I cannot do, just because I'm allow to.


I write because I refuse to believe that i cannot write, even if I think I cannot, and others agree too.


I need to write to force myself to do something I don't like doing, because I have to start doing things I don't like doing.

I need to write. And I need to stat writing now. Uncensored, uninterrupted, unedited. Uncouth, unsavoury, unleashed. 

I need to write. For the sake of staying living and staying alive. For the sake of not cutting myself off at the cusp of something possible, some future, something, anything. 

I need to just do something with the only thing which I now know I must do, and can do. 

I need to write, damn it.

Strange Bed-Fellow

I've been living with someone new.

For the last few months, my new companion has been quietly keeping me company. Whether asleep or awake, I feel a hovering presence and know I'm never far from his gaze.

Even during my most private or vulnerable moments, when I thought nobody else was watching , the presence of my bedfellow lies strangely heavy on my senses.

In the evenings, in order to avoid his insiduous attentions, I potter around the room - picking things up, adjusting my make-up, picking my clothes for the next day, trying out a new hairstyle, reading a book, watching TV, and scurrying to bed while his back is still turned. Despite that, in the moments when my mind and body relaxes and eases itself, slipping through the veil between wakefulness and sleep, he's the last thing to leave me.

There's no avoiding him in the mornings, his presence even intrudes on my awakening. He coolly allows his presence to seep into your sub-consciouness and then as your body starts to respond to him, he consumes your body soul and spirit with an almost shockingly suddeness and intensity that can be almost terrifying. 

Fear, is a strange and unpleasant bed fellow. 

I've not been able to get rid of him for the last few months. Sometimes when I think I'm rid of him I wake up to find his increased presence in the morning or suddenly appearing at a peaceful moment, leaving me in tenterhooks and constant dread of a re-appearance.

I want to get rid of my bed-fellow.

Poked by Nostalgia in the eye

Invoking memories is like eating dodgy food. The food in question looks and smells dodgy, and something at the back of your mind screams "Noooooo!" and the same something tells you you're going to be feeling so sorry and regretful and sick and stupid in a couple of hours time, but you eat it anyway.

And true enough, not too long later, you find yourself feeling sorry and regretful and sick and stupid, whilst hanging over the edge of a toilet bowl.

Dumb asses. Sorry. Well, I didn't mean you, I meant me.

Seriously, why do we put ourselves through this nostalgic merry-go-around?

To be fair to myself, I didn't drudge all all those best-to-be-forgotten memories myself; somebody else brought them up during the course of conversation, and as a polite person, I had to sit and listen and REMEMBER! What was I to do, how on earth do I stop the spontaneous popping-up of images in my mind as he persuaded them out of hiding by his talking?! What chance did I have?

And so they materialised in my mind and whispered in my ear and tickled my fancy and my imaginations. I was stoked by Perhaps and Maybe and What-If and got lost in a world that is not my own for a while.

At first they slide easily into your conscious mind as you savour the flavours of memories at their beginnings - of new experiences, people experimentations, exploratory conversations, furtive looks, fresh sounds, tentative touches. The initial thrill of remembered memories soon slide further into the unfolding of grotesque revelations. If you don't stop there, you slide further into the abyss of the churning up of all related and associated memories invoked to feed the nostalgia which has since transformed into a monster hungry to be fed emotions and memories that soon leaves one shrieking and moaning with the horror of unwanted memories.

And before you know it, memories come in an upwash and you hurl memory after memory which were suppose to be deeply buried and forgotten. And you find yourself feeling sorry and regretful and sick and stupid.

And there my analogy runs out.

Note to self

I must make certain the following of any friend who I recommends for a job.

- That they don't tell lies/exaggerate about their previous work experience. Making a presentation in front of CEOs does NOT equal having trained CEOs. Or maybe their english not good, so they can't tell the difference. - That they don't tell more lies to invoke sympathy and even more lies to get out of doing things. And worse still, not keep up with the lies they tell and expose their lying asses. I laugh at them, these people who try to be clever but show themselves up. How dumb can one get.- That they don't resign over the phone. Or by email either. It reeks of unprofessionalism and shows them to be the boor they are.
Which then begs the question, what am I doing with friends like that?

The Journey

"Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity but doing it."

Well, whoever who said the above is an idiot and probably spent all his life not finishing anything. Whoever starts something to not finish it is one who is goal-less and without vision or objectives, not to mention having too much time on his hands to waste.

Me, I plan to reach my destination, as quickly as I can, because I do what I do for the sake of the betterment of humanity and the world we live in. I'm going to be pretty pissed off if all the time, energies and effort spent ends nowhere and the world is as screwed up as it was before I started. Then I say, jolly well don't even bother to start and just go live on an island somewhere.

The point is to focus on the end-point damn it. Because if it's a worthy and worthwhile enough a destination, then the pain and struggles of the journeying becomes worthwhile despite the seemingly endlessness of it, and the joy of reaching the destination becomes all the sweeter because of the journey.

For someone who doesn't know what goes into fighting towards a vision, I say go stuff yourself into the toilet. Mental fortitude is a pre-requisite as you shuttle between ecstacy, stress and "things I should have done differently" as you make decisions involving thousands of dollars. Emotional resilience is what helps you withstand feelings of self-doubt and inadequancy and periods of deep darkness before the light appears at the end of the tunnel.

It's a tough journey, and if not for the destination in mind, I'll through the "journey" and whoever said that stupid quote out of the window. Seriously.

What's wrong with everybody?

I'm really angry at the world right now and I don't want to have anything to do with it. I need to be proven wrong, that the world is not the crap that it looks, smells and tastes like, and there is some good in some of the people in some of the world after all, and that mankind is not full of manipulators and smooth-talkers and liars and PR talkers who of course are deluded into thinking that they're something better than what they really are, and to add to it, make every effort to try to convince everybody around them to buy into that delusion as well.

What's wrong with everybody?

What's wrong with me? Some people see dead people, others see unicorns, I see through the humbug and the delusions that people choose to gift-wrap themselves with. And it's an uncomfortable feeling, not to mention frustrating, to see so much about people and to have to deal with the fact that, hey, everybody is a bit of a liar/cheat/manipulator/exaggerator, that everybody is to a certain extent insincere/selfish/self-centered/obsessed with money.

It made me sad, but now it's making me angry, angry that people have chose the easier way than to do the right thing.

A patient visited a doctor and told him, "Doctor, every thing I touch on my body hurts. My head hurts, my knee hurts, my chest hurts, my ear hurts, my nose hurts" to which the doctor replied, "You've broken your finger."

Maybe it's true. The world we know today is not more hateful and dishonest than it was yesterday; it was always this way. Long ago in Genesis, Cain killed his brother; it is still going on today. The only thing that's hurting itself, and to no good end is the broken finger. The broken finger will continue to hurt, its poking and probing having no effect and impact whatsoever.

I don't want to suffer; it's really not worth it, feeling so much crap and bewailing the current state of the world and society. The last time I felt like this, I managed to numb myself. This time it's harder and it's worse, what worked before won't work this time. I need to effectively sever the issue at its roots or it will come back to haunt me again. I can't stick my head in a hole and ignore the rest of the world, and I don't want to end up hating people; I need a real solution. I need to learn tolerance and patience and all that crap to stop me from judging everybody so quickly and easily. Even if they're really scumbags and dastards, I refuse to sink to their level.

The Incredible Hulk

I feel like the Incredible Hulk nowadays, consumed by angst and frustrations and rage that is only contained by indulging in escapist activities like reading and watching TV and sleeping. If my mind is left alone with nothing to do, it goes on a mental rampage thrashing houses and banishing people to outer space.

I'm tired of people, tired of their egoistic and inflated sense of self importance thinking they're God's gift to mankind, tired of their senseless nice-sounding talk which is empty and devoid of meaning and sincerity, tired of their constant complaining and criticism in the guise of old-age wisdom and sense, tired of cheap talk and worthless promises. I'm just tired of it all and wish these people will all go away. The worse thing is, it's become a way in which the world works - over-promising and under-delivering, all in the name of "marketing yourself".

I'm no saint by no means, but I think I at least don't hide behind a wall of drivel. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I don't make things sound better than they really are, and I certainly fulfill what I say I'll do. Somehow, it seems to be the norm now to be a talker, never mind sincere or not, hiding behind a bunch of high rhetoric and highfalutin.

Bah!