For a while I thought I'll never smile again. It seemed impossible to ever look in wonder at the blue of a freshly-rained sky and the smell of fresh rain. I never thought I'll ever hold somebody close to my heart again, much less see them as lovely albeit flawed beings. It was hard to imagine that there's still some hope left inside of me, that jokes will become funny.
Let hope arise.
Friday, October 05, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Not quite dead yet
I was originally planning to shut down the blog.
In fact, it was already done. Done and dusted. Over and done with. RIP.
No special reason why I'd shut it down. But then again, there was no real reason to keep it up anyway. I'll just be taking up virtual space, akin to being on virtual life support; a shell, lifeless, soulless, wth no reason for its existence.
In maintenance mode, that's what it'll be in. Without the inspiration and the energy to give birth to that little something something, the blog is lacking the sparkle and the punch that makes it worthwhile to keep it "live". I'm not sure at which point did the energy dissipate and the fire lose its warmth, and now it's just bland and dull and spiritless. Where did all the spunk from before go?
I don't know. And it was too much energy to try to find out, and even more energy to try to resurrect something that has died quite thoroughly. The next best thing to do is to give it a decent burial, covered six feet under and topped with funereal flowers, for a touch of dignity.
Funny thing about life. Just when you think it's over and there's nothing left to do, something inevitably, something always, happens.
Oh you know what I mean; you see it on TV all the time.
The flat-lining of a patient on the surgery table suddenly coming beeping again.
The one who almost drowned suddenly spewing out water and starting to breathe again.
The monster whom was supposedly killed coming alive and grabbing the hero's leg.
The point is, things happen when we least expect it. And expected, it creates an unexpected outcome to the story.
Just like real life.
Just when you think the blog's done, something, someone asks for it to come back, and then just like that, it has become, if it's even possible, less dead than it was previously.
I'm not sure how the spiritless, soulless, purposeless shell will turn out, whether it will eventually revive its spirit, refill its soul and discover its purpose. In other words, I'm not sure whether the blog will re-die again eventually, or whether there'll even be anything worth reading in future. For now, it's not dead, and for now, that's enough of an accomplishment for me.
Dedicated to the one single person who wants this blog back.
In fact, it was already done. Done and dusted. Over and done with. RIP.
No special reason why I'd shut it down. But then again, there was no real reason to keep it up anyway. I'll just be taking up virtual space, akin to being on virtual life support; a shell, lifeless, soulless, wth no reason for its existence.
In maintenance mode, that's what it'll be in. Without the inspiration and the energy to give birth to that little something something, the blog is lacking the sparkle and the punch that makes it worthwhile to keep it "live". I'm not sure at which point did the energy dissipate and the fire lose its warmth, and now it's just bland and dull and spiritless. Where did all the spunk from before go?
I don't know. And it was too much energy to try to find out, and even more energy to try to resurrect something that has died quite thoroughly. The next best thing to do is to give it a decent burial, covered six feet under and topped with funereal flowers, for a touch of dignity.
Funny thing about life. Just when you think it's over and there's nothing left to do, something inevitably, something always, happens.
Oh you know what I mean; you see it on TV all the time.
The flat-lining of a patient on the surgery table suddenly coming beeping again.
The one who almost drowned suddenly spewing out water and starting to breathe again.
The monster whom was supposedly killed coming alive and grabbing the hero's leg.
The point is, things happen when we least expect it. And expected, it creates an unexpected outcome to the story.
Just like real life.
Just when you think the blog's done, something, someone asks for it to come back, and then just like that, it has become, if it's even possible, less dead than it was previously.
I'm not sure how the spiritless, soulless, purposeless shell will turn out, whether it will eventually revive its spirit, refill its soul and discover its purpose. In other words, I'm not sure whether the blog will re-die again eventually, or whether there'll even be anything worth reading in future. For now, it's not dead, and for now, that's enough of an accomplishment for me.
Dedicated to the one single person who wants this blog back.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
What if?
What if it doesn't work?
What if I come back the same person and I never find out what's wrong with me?
What if I can never find the way out of this rut that I'm in?
It's too tough. I need a Manual to tell me how to go about doing it.
The Struggle to Wake Up Every Morning
It's such a struggle waking up every morning. Even though it's waking up from restless and disturbing dreams and unrested sleep, the moment of waking is always a struggle, as if my soul is resisting facing reality.
Even awake, the next struggle is to find enough energy to get out of bed and to to start the routine of facing the workday. It is so tempting to burrow my head underneath the bed clothes, but there're so many things that need my attention.
Even worse, is that, having woken up, there's nothing to look forward to - for that day, for the week, for my life.
Even worse, is that, having woken up, there's nothing to look forward to - for that day, for the week, for my life.
The Plan
The plan is to hide away somewhere without anybody else to disturb me and to exorcise all my ghosts, and anything else that is making me act crazy.
I keep wavering over this decision, wondering whether it's a good idea to shut myself away in a place without, well, anything. No TV, no Internet. Well I can get Internet if I want, but it may just very well defeat the purpose of my "rustication". After all, the point is to 1) take a break, that is assuming that I'm burnt out, or 2) shut myself away and write down all my bottled up feelings, assuming that I have demons to exorcise.
Will it work? Will I really come back from the break a whole new person with a fresh new perspective, with all my demons exorcised and all my bad habits changed and all my irritability gone? Or I may just come back the same person that went there, just minus the eye bags?
Will there be any point to this whole exercise?
I keep wavering over this decision, wondering whether it's a good idea to shut myself away in a place without, well, anything. No TV, no Internet. Well I can get Internet if I want, but it may just very well defeat the purpose of my "rustication". After all, the point is to 1) take a break, that is assuming that I'm burnt out, or 2) shut myself away and write down all my bottled up feelings, assuming that I have demons to exorcise.
Will it work? Will I really come back from the break a whole new person with a fresh new perspective, with all my demons exorcised and all my bad habits changed and all my irritability gone? Or I may just come back the same person that went there, just minus the eye bags?
Will there be any point to this whole exercise?
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
What should I blog about?
My friend tells me journalling will help me feel better. Ok, so what the hell am I suppose to blog about?
I was looking through my blog and I realised that I've been in this state for a long time now, and counting.
I'm not sure whether it's good that I'm getting worse, so I can get better; or really bad that it's spiraling way down and way out of control. It's come to a point that I'm becoming out of control.
I don't know what to do with myself.
I don't know what to say, to think, to feel, to respond, to initiate. I'm second guessing myself every time as to why I'm doing what I'm doing, and whether I should be doing what I'm doing, and even wondering what I'm doing.
What's happening to me?
What's wrong with me?
I thought it was just bad temper and that I need help with anger management.
But when an acquaintance was diagnosed for depression just because she gets insomnia and tears often, I realised I'm over-qualified for depression. (And hell so does half the world all over qualify!) Unfortunately though, I seem to have the type of depression that results in weight gain instead of weight loss!
And then, while reading a book about Aspergers, I'm wondering how come I sound like I have Aspergers - egocentric, unable to see things from others' perspectives, can't manage their own emotions.
I think if someone tells me I'm acting the way I do because I'm the devil incarnate, I'll actually believe him, I'm so desperately trying to find out what's wrong with me.
As of up till now, I don't know what to do with myself, and from whom to get the help I feel I so desperately need. I think my friends have suffered enough drama from me to have to endure helping me get back on my feet, and I'm obviously no help to myself, at the rate I'm crashing and burning.
Plus, I'm a real pain right now. I'm sensitive and emotional and intolerant and irritable and so really fun to be around. Seriously I'm so bad I don't even want to be near me.
I was looking through my blog and I realised that I've been in this state for a long time now, and counting.
I'm not sure whether it's good that I'm getting worse, so I can get better; or really bad that it's spiraling way down and way out of control. It's come to a point that I'm becoming out of control.
I don't know what to do with myself.
I don't know what to say, to think, to feel, to respond, to initiate. I'm second guessing myself every time as to why I'm doing what I'm doing, and whether I should be doing what I'm doing, and even wondering what I'm doing.
What's happening to me?
What's wrong with me?
I thought it was just bad temper and that I need help with anger management.
But when an acquaintance was diagnosed for depression just because she gets insomnia and tears often, I realised I'm over-qualified for depression. (And hell so does half the world all over qualify!) Unfortunately though, I seem to have the type of depression that results in weight gain instead of weight loss!
And then, while reading a book about Aspergers, I'm wondering how come I sound like I have Aspergers - egocentric, unable to see things from others' perspectives, can't manage their own emotions.
I think if someone tells me I'm acting the way I do because I'm the devil incarnate, I'll actually believe him, I'm so desperately trying to find out what's wrong with me.
As of up till now, I don't know what to do with myself, and from whom to get the help I feel I so desperately need. I think my friends have suffered enough drama from me to have to endure helping me get back on my feet, and I'm obviously no help to myself, at the rate I'm crashing and burning.
Plus, I'm a real pain right now. I'm sensitive and emotional and intolerant and irritable and so really fun to be around. Seriously I'm so bad I don't even want to be near me.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Don't go drinking first
I am finding life difficult nowadays.So difficult that every day, every step, every thought becomes a physical or a mental or an emotional ordeal. Every moment is fraught with the potential to be inflicted with physical, mental or emotional pain or discomfort; every moment the wait for salvation intensifies. But nothing gets through to me; nothing helps, nothing works. Every comfort seems cold, every hopefulness a mirage, every helpfulness a liability. I am steeped in the nightmare-like world I have created for myself, which is only alleviated by make-believe distractions, while working as a temporary tranquilizer, only serves to intensify the paranoid feelings of loss, disappointment, and occasionally, panic.
But something did come through the cloud that engulfed me the other day. It was a story that was told. This is the story....
There's an old "Kingston Trio" song about a gold prospector named "Desert Pete." The story goes that he had sunk a well, in the middle of a desert. He had hooked up an old water pump to it, but, realizing it would be out in the heat all day, it's "leather" suction fitting would dry out. So, he put a jug of water under a rock nearby. He tied a small can to the handle, and in the can he placed a note.
The note said, "You've got to 'Prime the Pump', you must have faith, and believe! You've got to give of yourself, before you're worthy to receive!" The note told the reader where to find the jug of water, but, it cautioned him "Don't go drinking it first" but, to "give it up", to commit it to Priming the Pump, to "pour it in, then pump like mad, and buddy you'll quench your thirst!"
The reader of the note needed to follow the instructions, to not drink the water first, but to pour the water into the pump, to wet the leather, and to Prime the Pump, then there would be plenty of water, so they could "Drink all the water you can hold, wash your face to your feet, leave the bottle full for others,.. thank ya kindly, Desert Pete!"
However, if the next guy only thought of himself, and his immediate need, and drank the water from the jug, he would leave the jug empty, the message would be meaning less, there would be no water for the next fellow, no "pumping like mad", no one else could drink their fill, no bottle would be left full for those who followed him! Just one guy coming along who DIDN'T obey the instructions, would mess the whole thing up, and everyone else coming along after him would only find a dry pump!
And somehow, the story became a lifeline in this swirling mess of a world that is mine. "Don't go drinking first". No matter how parched I am, trapped in a desert environment, I can't drink the water. I need to save it so I can work the pump, so I can quench my thirst and sustain my life, now and afterwards. If I drink it now, I will surely die, maybe not now, but definitely later. So, even if I'm already dying of dehydration, don't drink the water. DON'T GO DRINKING FIRST!
And whenever I feel like I can't go on another step, I say that aloud to myself, " Don't go drinking first". And I say it again and again and again, until I feel that my mind has absorbed the message, my body has stopped resisting, and my emotions have calmed down and is prepared for the next however many weeks, or days, or hours, or sometimes, even minutes, until I feel I have to do that exercise all over again.
Salvation hasn't come. Not by a long shot. I can't even think about the next person, or about pumping the pump yet. I only have one thing, and one thing in mind only, " don't go drinking first ".
But something did come through the cloud that engulfed me the other day. It was a story that was told. This is the story....
There's an old "Kingston Trio" song about a gold prospector named "Desert Pete." The story goes that he had sunk a well, in the middle of a desert. He had hooked up an old water pump to it, but, realizing it would be out in the heat all day, it's "leather" suction fitting would dry out. So, he put a jug of water under a rock nearby. He tied a small can to the handle, and in the can he placed a note.
The note said, "You've got to 'Prime the Pump', you must have faith, and believe! You've got to give of yourself, before you're worthy to receive!" The note told the reader where to find the jug of water, but, it cautioned him "Don't go drinking it first" but, to "give it up", to commit it to Priming the Pump, to "pour it in, then pump like mad, and buddy you'll quench your thirst!"
The reader of the note needed to follow the instructions, to not drink the water first, but to pour the water into the pump, to wet the leather, and to Prime the Pump, then there would be plenty of water, so they could "Drink all the water you can hold, wash your face to your feet, leave the bottle full for others,.. thank ya kindly, Desert Pete!"
However, if the next guy only thought of himself, and his immediate need, and drank the water from the jug, he would leave the jug empty, the message would be meaning less, there would be no water for the next fellow, no "pumping like mad", no one else could drink their fill, no bottle would be left full for those who followed him! Just one guy coming along who DIDN'T obey the instructions, would mess the whole thing up, and everyone else coming along after him would only find a dry pump!
And somehow, the story became a lifeline in this swirling mess of a world that is mine. "Don't go drinking first". No matter how parched I am, trapped in a desert environment, I can't drink the water. I need to save it so I can work the pump, so I can quench my thirst and sustain my life, now and afterwards. If I drink it now, I will surely die, maybe not now, but definitely later. So, even if I'm already dying of dehydration, don't drink the water. DON'T GO DRINKING FIRST!
And whenever I feel like I can't go on another step, I say that aloud to myself, " Don't go drinking first". And I say it again and again and again, until I feel that my mind has absorbed the message, my body has stopped resisting, and my emotions have calmed down and is prepared for the next however many weeks, or days, or hours, or sometimes, even minutes, until I feel I have to do that exercise all over again.
Salvation hasn't come. Not by a long shot. I can't even think about the next person, or about pumping the pump yet. I only have one thing, and one thing in mind only, " don't go drinking first ".
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
No more
This trying to be a better person thing is tough.
On days like this, it feels as it the effort is not worth it anymore, that no matter how much you try, it's never enough; and that whoever you try for, they're too wrapped up in their own selfish agenda to care about trying to return the favour, that is, assuming that they even have a spot of affection for you, that they're even picking up on your existence on their radar.
On days like these, when disappointment abounds, I'm ready to just pack up and leave the rest of the world to their existence, and retreat to mine. No more trying to be nice, no more trying to help, no more trying to make a difference. After all, all one gets in return for one's efforts is a crock of shit anyway.
When I get to that point, my anger and disappointment switches to the other extreme; I feel guilt for everything that is happening. It's my fault that I'm not a nice/patient/polite/tolerant/smiley/tactful/soft-spoken etc etc etc person. This happened before I screwed up on the other thing, that happened because I wasn't tactful enough. Everything happened, well, because I'm not good enough a person basically.
I try not to, but I blame my lower middle class upbringing, my brought up - everything that is the opposite of privileged. I just grew up, just short of being 'dragged up'. I was never 'brought up' properly. That's when I also think people should take exams to see whether they're worthy to be parents.
Am I being unfair? Am I being unreasonable and childish? Maybe I am, but that's why I feel right now. Am I being ungrateful for what I've been blessed with? Am I complaining too much? Am I being naive in thinking that privileged people don't have their own problems and sufferings. Maybe I am. And no I don't think that other people don't have their own problems, but I'll like to at least like to start suffering something different from what has plagued me my entire life.
At rock bottom, when I think I'm scum, I get angry again and feel the injustice of having to look out for others when others don't look out for me. I always come back to the same questions."Why do I have to be the one giving in to somebody else's demands?". "Why do I have to think for the benefit of somebody else? Who is thinking for mine benefit?". "Why do I have to make the first move?". "Why do I have to apologise first?". "Why do I have to seek reconciliation?". "Why do I have to do the harder work while somebody else can sit back and relax?" Why why why? It feels terribly unfair, and I bristle at the unfairness of it all. Why do I give a damn about these people anyway? I don't need them. And I will make sure that I never want or need anybody, ever again.
Seriously, never again. The problem is not people, but the problem is my liking people, trusting them, trying to help them. But not only do they not appreciate it, I have to suffer for my attempt to help.
I am angry. I am disappointed. I am feeling hurt and vulnerable and like a fool. I want to hurt the people who hurt me. I want them to feel the sense of loss that I feel. I want them to go all out 100% for something that bites them back. I want them to feel like a fool, a colossal fool, a hundred times over.
I want to be allowed to be vindictive, vengeful, cruel, manipulative, wicked. I want to be allowed to give full reign to my anger. I want to amoral and conscienceless.
I want to not care anymore.
On days like this, it feels as it the effort is not worth it anymore, that no matter how much you try, it's never enough; and that whoever you try for, they're too wrapped up in their own selfish agenda to care about trying to return the favour, that is, assuming that they even have a spot of affection for you, that they're even picking up on your existence on their radar.
On days like these, when disappointment abounds, I'm ready to just pack up and leave the rest of the world to their existence, and retreat to mine. No more trying to be nice, no more trying to help, no more trying to make a difference. After all, all one gets in return for one's efforts is a crock of shit anyway.
When I get to that point, my anger and disappointment switches to the other extreme; I feel guilt for everything that is happening. It's my fault that I'm not a nice/patient/polite/tolerant/smiley/tactful/soft-spoken etc etc etc person. This happened before I screwed up on the other thing, that happened because I wasn't tactful enough. Everything happened, well, because I'm not good enough a person basically.
I try not to, but I blame my lower middle class upbringing, my brought up - everything that is the opposite of privileged. I just grew up, just short of being 'dragged up'. I was never 'brought up' properly. That's when I also think people should take exams to see whether they're worthy to be parents.
Am I being unfair? Am I being unreasonable and childish? Maybe I am, but that's why I feel right now. Am I being ungrateful for what I've been blessed with? Am I complaining too much? Am I being naive in thinking that privileged people don't have their own problems and sufferings. Maybe I am. And no I don't think that other people don't have their own problems, but I'll like to at least like to start suffering something different from what has plagued me my entire life.
At rock bottom, when I think I'm scum, I get angry again and feel the injustice of having to look out for others when others don't look out for me. I always come back to the same questions."Why do I have to be the one giving in to somebody else's demands?". "Why do I have to think for the benefit of somebody else? Who is thinking for mine benefit?". "Why do I have to make the first move?". "Why do I have to apologise first?". "Why do I have to seek reconciliation?". "Why do I have to do the harder work while somebody else can sit back and relax?" Why why why? It feels terribly unfair, and I bristle at the unfairness of it all. Why do I give a damn about these people anyway? I don't need them. And I will make sure that I never want or need anybody, ever again.
Seriously, never again. The problem is not people, but the problem is my liking people, trusting them, trying to help them. But not only do they not appreciate it, I have to suffer for my attempt to help.
I am angry. I am disappointed. I am feeling hurt and vulnerable and like a fool. I want to hurt the people who hurt me. I want them to feel the sense of loss that I feel. I want them to go all out 100% for something that bites them back. I want them to feel like a fool, a colossal fool, a hundred times over.
I want to be allowed to be vindictive, vengeful, cruel, manipulative, wicked. I want to be allowed to give full reign to my anger. I want to amoral and conscienceless.
I want to not care anymore.
I don't want to play anymore
It is very hard to make an effort for somebody who doesn't appreciate the gesture or return the affection.
It is very hard to keep working at something to which there is no rewards to reap.
It is very hard to keep working at something to which there is no rewards to reap.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
It's clear enough...
Things can't get very much clearer. The signs are all there.
Well, you can't say I didn't try. Any decision you make is your own; it's nothing to do with me anymore.
Because I tried, damn I tried. Well, you, not so much. You, you have the soul of a politician.
I refuse to lift a finger to do anymore for something and someone who's a losing proposition.
I refuse to lift a finger to do anymore for something and someone who's a losing proposition.
Saturday, April 07, 2012
I am the monkey
By "monkey", I am referring to the one in the monkey and the peanuts and the tree story. You know, the monkey who stuck his paw into a hole in the tree trunk to get a hold of the peanuts. The monkey, who, with its paw bulging with peanuts, couldn't get it out but refused to let go of the peanuts, not suspecting that it was a trap set up by hunters to catch silly monkeys.
Much as I hate to admit my stupidity, it has finally dawned on me that in some ways, I've been acting like the monkey who has sacrificed and given up its freedom, and for what? Just a handful of cheap peanuts. What's embarrassing is that I've been treating ordinary peanuts as invaluable treasure, so loath to let go and so sure of its value, only to finally find it cheap and crass and tawdry. The gold varnish has finally flaked showing the common metal underneath.
Who's a monkey like me?
I'm sure I'm not the only silly monkey who can't distinguish the real from the fake, truth from lies, the cheap from the priceless, the enduring from the superficial. So how does one learn the real value of value? Because it's silly to continue to pay dearly for the worthless, and to scorn the inestimable and the rare just because of their uneasily recognised value. It's not as bad feeling silly as it is kicking oneself for having thrown away something which is irreplaceably worth its weight in gold.
Stupid monkey.
Much as I hate to admit my stupidity, it has finally dawned on me that in some ways, I've been acting like the monkey who has sacrificed and given up its freedom, and for what? Just a handful of cheap peanuts. What's embarrassing is that I've been treating ordinary peanuts as invaluable treasure, so loath to let go and so sure of its value, only to finally find it cheap and crass and tawdry. The gold varnish has finally flaked showing the common metal underneath.
Who's a monkey like me?
I'm sure I'm not the only silly monkey who can't distinguish the real from the fake, truth from lies, the cheap from the priceless, the enduring from the superficial. So how does one learn the real value of value? Because it's silly to continue to pay dearly for the worthless, and to scorn the inestimable and the rare just because of their uneasily recognised value. It's not as bad feeling silly as it is kicking oneself for having thrown away something which is irreplaceably worth its weight in gold.
Stupid monkey.
Organ Failure
Question from watching Grey's Anatomy: What are my expectations, what do I want to get out of giving up a kidney? Eternal gratitude? Undying love? Never-ending devotion?
What if I get none of the above, will I still give up a kidney to a dying friend?
Gee that's a really hard one.
But a totally plausible though hypothetical scenario.
Especially in this day and age where so many things you do count for so little after all. The heart doesn't beat as strongly for friendship as before.
What if I get none of the above, will I still give up a kidney to a dying friend?
Gee that's a really hard one.
But a totally plausible though hypothetical scenario.
Especially in this day and age where so many things you do count for so little after all. The heart doesn't beat as strongly for friendship as before.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Of Heros and Heroines
It wasn't a particularly political conversation that we were having but somehow the topic of Aung Sun Suu Kyi came up. And it wasn't too long after that Nelson Mandela's name came up as well. They were, to me, two of the greatest people who ever lived in this century.
Yes, even compared to Martin Luther King, Gandhi and Mother Theresa.
Aung Sung Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela were fighting for social causes that they weren't even sure will happen, much lest happen in their lifetime, and they may even die without saying a single aorta of change. And they did it at great personal cost and sacrifice. No one great person I know has ever been willing to fight for such a 'worthless' cost.
What courage, to fight against society's entranced norms. What nobility, to give up self and family to a cause that cannot even be seen. What foolishness, to believe in a cause that may not even happen in one's lifetime.
Yes, even compared to Martin Luther King, Gandhi and Mother Theresa.
Aung Sung Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela were fighting for social causes that they weren't even sure will happen, much lest happen in their lifetime, and they may even die without saying a single aorta of change. And they did it at great personal cost and sacrifice. No one great person I know has ever been willing to fight for such a 'worthless' cost.
What courage, to fight against society's entranced norms. What nobility, to give up self and family to a cause that cannot even be seen. What foolishness, to believe in a cause that may not even happen in one's lifetime.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
Let's use the analogy of a disease.
Disease is your body's way of telling you that there is something abnormal in your bodily functions; your body may be secreting too much of a chemical or hormone, or sometimes it's too little, or your body may be degenerating at too fast a rate than normal aging. To inform the person to whom possesses the body, signals are sent out to inform the person, or the brain, or to inform conscious thought of the situation. So the person feels pain, or discomfort, or fever, and is informed that "there's something wrong with your body, go do something about it".
A sick body may resume most if not all of its functions. For as serious condition, they call it a "remission". A remission from cancer means that whatever's wrong with your body is now under control, and the cancer is not causing your body to act in a dysfunction manner. The body is now 'normal'.
But a sick body is never really whole is it? It simply means that there is an uneasy equilibrium within the functions of your body. Out of the say 10 'things' happening in your body, some positively and others negatively, the total nett effect is zero. At any one time, a hairline trigger could upset this delicate balance and trip the entire equilibrium, causing the body to malfunction again. The body now suffers a 'relapse'; the disease is back.
Well, in life, people suffer from 'relapses' as well. Life is an intricate and delicate balancing act. We adjust ourselves - our thoughts, our lifestyles, our emotions, our bodies, to try to become better all the time. We adjust our time to find more time for our friends or families or to exercise. We adjust our minds to think positively and in a more accurate way so as to ensure healthier emotions or to avoid breakdown of relationships. We tinkle, tweak, polish, alter, modify, regulate to achieve that state of being which we define as "good" or "successful", to us. And when we finally achieve that state of perfection, we glow and bask in our achievements,not understanding that, this state of perfection needs to be constantly up-kept and maintained. It requires effort, energy, determination, perseverance. Relapses happen, and when that happens, we have to go back to working at it again, to once again achieve that specific state of being.
The point I'm trying to make, to myself mostly is this, that it's ok to have a relapse; that having a relapse doesn't mean I've failed, and am hopeless, and will never get where I want to get. Every time a 'relapse' takes place, things are getting better, because a finer and ever more delicate alteration is taking place to make me better, stronger, hardier, not to mention prettier, wiser and taller? That's where the term "well adjusted" comes from, to become well requires much and frequent adjustments.
Life is a process, a journey, an adventure. Celebrate life, don't beat yourself up over it.
Disease is your body's way of telling you that there is something abnormal in your bodily functions; your body may be secreting too much of a chemical or hormone, or sometimes it's too little, or your body may be degenerating at too fast a rate than normal aging. To inform the person to whom possesses the body, signals are sent out to inform the person, or the brain, or to inform conscious thought of the situation. So the person feels pain, or discomfort, or fever, and is informed that "there's something wrong with your body, go do something about it".
A sick body may resume most if not all of its functions. For as serious condition, they call it a "remission". A remission from cancer means that whatever's wrong with your body is now under control, and the cancer is not causing your body to act in a dysfunction manner. The body is now 'normal'.
But a sick body is never really whole is it? It simply means that there is an uneasy equilibrium within the functions of your body. Out of the say 10 'things' happening in your body, some positively and others negatively, the total nett effect is zero. At any one time, a hairline trigger could upset this delicate balance and trip the entire equilibrium, causing the body to malfunction again. The body now suffers a 'relapse'; the disease is back.
Well, in life, people suffer from 'relapses' as well. Life is an intricate and delicate balancing act. We adjust ourselves - our thoughts, our lifestyles, our emotions, our bodies, to try to become better all the time. We adjust our time to find more time for our friends or families or to exercise. We adjust our minds to think positively and in a more accurate way so as to ensure healthier emotions or to avoid breakdown of relationships. We tinkle, tweak, polish, alter, modify, regulate to achieve that state of being which we define as "good" or "successful", to us. And when we finally achieve that state of perfection, we glow and bask in our achievements,not understanding that, this state of perfection needs to be constantly up-kept and maintained. It requires effort, energy, determination, perseverance. Relapses happen, and when that happens, we have to go back to working at it again, to once again achieve that specific state of being.
The point I'm trying to make, to myself mostly is this, that it's ok to have a relapse; that having a relapse doesn't mean I've failed, and am hopeless, and will never get where I want to get. Every time a 'relapse' takes place, things are getting better, because a finer and ever more delicate alteration is taking place to make me better, stronger, hardier, not to mention prettier, wiser and taller? That's where the term "well adjusted" comes from, to become well requires much and frequent adjustments.
Life is a process, a journey, an adventure. Celebrate life, don't beat yourself up over it.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Turning 35
My resolution to write everyday has not stopped me from being lazy and not doing what I said I would, but at least it's making me try harder in trying to stick to it. So here I am, after a hiatus of, well, I lost count of how many days, back again.
Today I'm going to talk about turning 35.
In some ways, 35 is just another number. Being 35 is no different from being 25 or 15 or whatever. It wasn't momentous in any way. I didn't feel as if I've crossed a certain threshold for anything; I didn't feel like I've "arrived" somewhat somewhere. It wasn't more special than having turned 34. In that respect, it was just another day in all of my days, just another number in the series of numbers that makes up live - number of failed relationships, number of jobs gone through, amount of money earned, amount of money lost etc.
In other ways though, this was a very special birthday to me, because for once I finally feel as if I am going somewhere, a destination, a final goal that I've set out for myself, and amazing of amazing, I actually know where I'm going.
Life didn't feel as random now; life wasn't just the potential or possibility of anything and everything possibly happening to me. Whilst life was exciting and spontaneous and unpredictable that way, it also meant that life could go spinning off axis and out of control with any one thing that came spinning into my orbit - any thing, any person, any situation, anything could spark off something off of any proportion. I looked to see what life would bring me each day, and pursued any random occurrence to its random arbitrary haphazard end. Which means I basically allowed my life to be determined by capricious chance; I am a mere plaything of statistical occurrences.
I am not exactly sure how I got to this point, where, at 35, I am starting to feel hopeful about myself. Not "happy", not "satisfied", not "contented", just hopeful. It feels as if there's something to look forward to, there's potential in my life, in myself waiting to be realised, and I can feel it coming; despite everything, it's coming.
It's not as if everything's great and smooth-sailing. In fact, life seems more troublesome, more frustrating, more scary, more challenging than I'm ever expected it to be. When I think about tomorrow, I sometimes quail at the prospect of all the crap that's going to come my way. But when I look back and see how I've grown this year, how far I've come, how I've learnt to deal with situations I couldn't before, how I have cultivated and developed that confidence, that assurance, that stability I didn't have before, I feel sure that I will grow to fill those seemingly impossible shoes, the shoes I'm meant to fill, the shoes of the great, wise, compassionate, capable, person I'm meant to be. And I know this for a fact.
And the amazing thing is, I was so afraid that I was losing myself in this process, and I was wrong. I thought that changing means having to give up everything that I thought I am, the essence of my persona and personality, but it is the reverse actually. Because I am starting to enjoy myself again; because the things that used to "spoil my fun", that frustrated me and made me angry disappeared as my outlook broadened and expanded. I was now free to enjoy myself even more. Life actually became pleasant.
There was this thing that I found so difficult to give up; it was so dear to me, and I held on to it irrationally and illogically and brought myself a lot of pain and hurt and confusion. But the day I decided to give it up, to not allow myself to be held back by this thing that was so big to me, something interesting happened. Letting go suddenly wasn't so painful anymore, and my closed hurt mind suddenly became able to see other things, good things, that were willing and able to more than fill up that gaping hole in my heart. And I felt fullness instead of the emptiness I expected, serenity instead of the confusion and pain I thought I would have to go through, patience and understanding instead of being angry and bitter with how the situation turned out.
Even though I'm not much of a celebrator of birthdays, I still go through the solemn ritual of marking the day as an end to the past year, and the beginning of a new year. And every year I would tell myself I can't wait to see what the next year brings. This year, while the words remain the same, the essence of that statement is changed. This year, there is more than mere anticipation and curiosity to see what the year 35 brings for me; there is now an excitement, and expectation of good things, great things, and an impatience to see what this year will bring forth.
So happy 35th birthday to me, and here's to what the year will bring for me.
Cheers!
Today I'm going to talk about turning 35.
In some ways, 35 is just another number. Being 35 is no different from being 25 or 15 or whatever. It wasn't momentous in any way. I didn't feel as if I've crossed a certain threshold for anything; I didn't feel like I've "arrived" somewhat somewhere. It wasn't more special than having turned 34. In that respect, it was just another day in all of my days, just another number in the series of numbers that makes up live - number of failed relationships, number of jobs gone through, amount of money earned, amount of money lost etc.
In other ways though, this was a very special birthday to me, because for once I finally feel as if I am going somewhere, a destination, a final goal that I've set out for myself, and amazing of amazing, I actually know where I'm going.
Life didn't feel as random now; life wasn't just the potential or possibility of anything and everything possibly happening to me. Whilst life was exciting and spontaneous and unpredictable that way, it also meant that life could go spinning off axis and out of control with any one thing that came spinning into my orbit - any thing, any person, any situation, anything could spark off something off of any proportion. I looked to see what life would bring me each day, and pursued any random occurrence to its random arbitrary haphazard end. Which means I basically allowed my life to be determined by capricious chance; I am a mere plaything of statistical occurrences.
I am not exactly sure how I got to this point, where, at 35, I am starting to feel hopeful about myself. Not "happy", not "satisfied", not "contented", just hopeful. It feels as if there's something to look forward to, there's potential in my life, in myself waiting to be realised, and I can feel it coming; despite everything, it's coming.
It's not as if everything's great and smooth-sailing. In fact, life seems more troublesome, more frustrating, more scary, more challenging than I'm ever expected it to be. When I think about tomorrow, I sometimes quail at the prospect of all the crap that's going to come my way. But when I look back and see how I've grown this year, how far I've come, how I've learnt to deal with situations I couldn't before, how I have cultivated and developed that confidence, that assurance, that stability I didn't have before, I feel sure that I will grow to fill those seemingly impossible shoes, the shoes I'm meant to fill, the shoes of the great, wise, compassionate, capable, person I'm meant to be. And I know this for a fact.
And the amazing thing is, I was so afraid that I was losing myself in this process, and I was wrong. I thought that changing means having to give up everything that I thought I am, the essence of my persona and personality, but it is the reverse actually. Because I am starting to enjoy myself again; because the things that used to "spoil my fun", that frustrated me and made me angry disappeared as my outlook broadened and expanded. I was now free to enjoy myself even more. Life actually became pleasant.
There was this thing that I found so difficult to give up; it was so dear to me, and I held on to it irrationally and illogically and brought myself a lot of pain and hurt and confusion. But the day I decided to give it up, to not allow myself to be held back by this thing that was so big to me, something interesting happened. Letting go suddenly wasn't so painful anymore, and my closed hurt mind suddenly became able to see other things, good things, that were willing and able to more than fill up that gaping hole in my heart. And I felt fullness instead of the emptiness I expected, serenity instead of the confusion and pain I thought I would have to go through, patience and understanding instead of being angry and bitter with how the situation turned out.
Even though I'm not much of a celebrator of birthdays, I still go through the solemn ritual of marking the day as an end to the past year, and the beginning of a new year. And every year I would tell myself I can't wait to see what the next year brings. This year, while the words remain the same, the essence of that statement is changed. This year, there is more than mere anticipation and curiosity to see what the year 35 brings for me; there is now an excitement, and expectation of good things, great things, and an impatience to see what this year will bring forth.
So happy 35th birthday to me, and here's to what the year will bring for me.
Cheers!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Mr Potato Head
I've been masquerading as Mr Potato head in my MSN. You know that potato being with detachable eyes, ears, moustache, and limbs which you can dissemble leaving only the literal potato torso? Oh I forgot, Mr Potato Head has his very own wardrobe, not as extensive as Barbie and Ken's, but still decently consisting of a hat and shoes.
Mr Potato Head has a very respectable existence, appearing in Toy Story 1 and 2 and besides, also having his very own, albeit short-lived, Mr Potato Head Show. He even has offspring in the Potato Head Kids. Quite notable success, but at the end of the day, when everything that is an appendage is removed, what is left is just really, a potato.
Which brings me to the question I've been asking myself, if I were a potato, what kind of a potato would I be? Unfortunately I'm not familiar with the different varieties of potatoes; I only know fried potatoes, baked potatoes, and mashed potato, but that doesn't give me an excuse for not answering my own question: what potato am I if all my potato parts are removed? Or to put the question in simpler terms, what will I be like if I didn't have the baggage, mindset blocks, attitude problems, defensive behaviour, suspicious cynicism that I've collected, like potato parts, throughout my life? I started as a cute 3.5 pound clean slate of a baby after all. There's no sure evidence but there were some reports that I was cute, curious and good-tempered as a baby. So, what happened along the way? I'm so used to the person I know myself as now, I won't be able to even imagine what the non screwed-up version of me will be like. Will I be happier, smarter, prettier, more well-adjusted, skinnier? Can I still find out?
Theoretically, I can still find out what the "real" me is like. And how? By removing all the bad behaviour I picked up along the way, and I'll be as good as new. Theoretically. Practically, I'm not sure how that's going to happen. When bad habits have been with you a long while, they somehow become part of one's personality. I mayn't have started out suspicious and un-trusting, but if I encourage that sort of behaviour long enough, I will end up like that. Like what I have become recently. Oh crap. How? I don't want to die a bitter old hag.
I don't know how yet. Because just as I tell myself to stop behaving a certain way, I start getting tested on my resolutions to revamp myself. *Hey cut me some slack here, You Up There!* Which I guess makes it all so much more interesting (Hmmph!) for me learning that lesson, and I guess, makes the lesson more deeply learnt. But still, that doesn't mean I haven't been complaining under my breath. Unfortunately, knowledge doesn't necessarily make for real self-awareness, and self awareness doesn't make for real action.
I don't even know how to end this post. I could end with some trite cliche but that is too simplistic a representation of life's vicissitudes; or is it because I'm not determined enough to effect real change? Is a desire for change enough of an impetus to create that change? I hardly think so, for I've seen many others as well as myself, keep doing the same thing we tell ourselves not to do, only to do it again the very next moment. Human beings can be so noble and wonderful and amazing sometimes; at other times, they can be so despicable and low-down and well, just useless.I'm talking myself into a bind here, but hey I'm being true-to-goodness honest about well, very real human dilemmas.
I shall stop talking behind I get stuck in a mental bog.
I just realised there're a lot of "I don't know" in this post!
Mr Potato Head has a very respectable existence, appearing in Toy Story 1 and 2 and besides, also having his very own, albeit short-lived, Mr Potato Head Show. He even has offspring in the Potato Head Kids. Quite notable success, but at the end of the day, when everything that is an appendage is removed, what is left is just really, a potato.
Which brings me to the question I've been asking myself, if I were a potato, what kind of a potato would I be? Unfortunately I'm not familiar with the different varieties of potatoes; I only know fried potatoes, baked potatoes, and mashed potato, but that doesn't give me an excuse for not answering my own question: what potato am I if all my potato parts are removed? Or to put the question in simpler terms, what will I be like if I didn't have the baggage, mindset blocks, attitude problems, defensive behaviour, suspicious cynicism that I've collected, like potato parts, throughout my life? I started as a cute 3.5 pound clean slate of a baby after all. There's no sure evidence but there were some reports that I was cute, curious and good-tempered as a baby. So, what happened along the way? I'm so used to the person I know myself as now, I won't be able to even imagine what the non screwed-up version of me will be like. Will I be happier, smarter, prettier, more well-adjusted, skinnier? Can I still find out?
Theoretically, I can still find out what the "real" me is like. And how? By removing all the bad behaviour I picked up along the way, and I'll be as good as new. Theoretically. Practically, I'm not sure how that's going to happen. When bad habits have been with you a long while, they somehow become part of one's personality. I mayn't have started out suspicious and un-trusting, but if I encourage that sort of behaviour long enough, I will end up like that. Like what I have become recently. Oh crap. How? I don't want to die a bitter old hag.
I don't know how yet. Because just as I tell myself to stop behaving a certain way, I start getting tested on my resolutions to revamp myself. *Hey cut me some slack here, You Up There!* Which I guess makes it all so much more interesting (Hmmph!) for me learning that lesson, and I guess, makes the lesson more deeply learnt. But still, that doesn't mean I haven't been complaining under my breath. Unfortunately, knowledge doesn't necessarily make for real self-awareness, and self awareness doesn't make for real action.
I don't even know how to end this post. I could end with some trite cliche but that is too simplistic a representation of life's vicissitudes; or is it because I'm not determined enough to effect real change? Is a desire for change enough of an impetus to create that change? I hardly think so, for I've seen many others as well as myself, keep doing the same thing we tell ourselves not to do, only to do it again the very next moment. Human beings can be so noble and wonderful and amazing sometimes; at other times, they can be so despicable and low-down and well, just useless.I'm talking myself into a bind here, but hey I'm being true-to-goodness honest about well, very real human dilemmas.
I shall stop talking behind I get stuck in a mental bog.
I just realised there're a lot of "I don't know" in this post!
Monday, March 19, 2012
Damn new resolution
Damn damn damn
I've just started new targets for myself, and I'm regretting it already.
For today onward, I have to blog EVERY DAY. No matter how little or how much, I just have to write something, anything, never mind if I have nothing but crap worth saying. I firmly believe that some form of coercion and hand-twisting is required in order to push myself to the next level. Left to myself, I'll probably turn from laze myself into oblivion, turning from coach potato to potato to just couch. No one I know has chosen to be unnecessarily hardworking and of course I'm no exception to the rule. (Well maybe just one person I know, but that person's probably not really human.)
The point is to cultivate a habit, never mind how stiflingly boring and repetitive I may be about my favourite topics. It's a good thing nobody reads this blog anyway, except myself. And God knows how bored I am by my own writing already. Well, the cold comfort is that, at least I'm writing something, better than wasting my time playing Angry Birds I should think.
Remind me again why I'm putting myself through this strict regime. In order to make a painful non-adherence to rules, I'll I'll erh I'll buy a donate $50 to Amazon every time I don't write. What a great excuse for shopping eh. I'm half thinking to give myself the weekends off, but if I do that I'll have to let myself off for public holidays and special occasions like birthdays and lunar eclipses and Marilyn Monroe's birthday too. So I guess I better not start myself off on the wrong foot.
Anyway, as it's my very 1st day of the new resolution, I'm thereby declaring I'm allowed to cheat by not even using my brain writing, and for stopping halfway to shoot angry birds at wooden structures. From tomorrow onwards, I need to spend at least half an hour in my writing attempt, and not allowed to switch to Angry Birds halfway!
Once again, damn damn DAMN!
I've just started new targets for myself, and I'm regretting it already.
For today onward, I have to blog EVERY DAY. No matter how little or how much, I just have to write something, anything, never mind if I have nothing but crap worth saying. I firmly believe that some form of coercion and hand-twisting is required in order to push myself to the next level. Left to myself, I'll probably turn from laze myself into oblivion, turning from coach potato to potato to just couch. No one I know has chosen to be unnecessarily hardworking and of course I'm no exception to the rule. (Well maybe just one person I know, but that person's probably not really human.)
The point is to cultivate a habit, never mind how stiflingly boring and repetitive I may be about my favourite topics. It's a good thing nobody reads this blog anyway, except myself. And God knows how bored I am by my own writing already. Well, the cold comfort is that, at least I'm writing something, better than wasting my time playing Angry Birds I should think.
Remind me again why I'm putting myself through this strict regime. In order to make a painful non-adherence to rules, I'll I'll erh I'll buy a donate $50 to Amazon every time I don't write. What a great excuse for shopping eh. I'm half thinking to give myself the weekends off, but if I do that I'll have to let myself off for public holidays and special occasions like birthdays and lunar eclipses and Marilyn Monroe's birthday too. So I guess I better not start myself off on the wrong foot.
Anyway, as it's my very 1st day of the new resolution, I'm thereby declaring I'm allowed to cheat by not even using my brain writing, and for stopping halfway to shoot angry birds at wooden structures. From tomorrow onwards, I need to spend at least half an hour in my writing attempt, and not allowed to switch to Angry Birds halfway!
Once again, damn damn DAMN!
Monday, January 09, 2012
The Non-Prodigal Son
We talk so much about the prodigal son, we forget about, erh, the other one whom I shall call the non-prodigal son.
I really don't get why the prodigal son is the hero of the story. (Don't tell me the Father in the story is the hero, when the story is title "THE Prodigal Son". If the Father is really the hero, the story will be called "The FATHER of the Prodigal Son" won't it?)
Anyway, I was saying, the Prodigal Son is the one who's selfish and mercenary and who gets to enjoy the good life. I'm sorry if he had found himself a good investment banker for his millions instead of being so stupid about his money, he wouldn't have gone home to daddy but continued to live it up!
So is the real moral of the story, take the money and remember to get a good investment banker? Because it seems that the prodigal son is the only gainer in the whole story, the rest are losers.
I know the Father in the story has been approved as THE type of father to be - forgiving, not giving up, willing to welcome back a disgraced son etc etc. But sometimes I wonder why his focus is on the "lost" son and not appreciating and treasuring what he has at home already. But pining for his lost son, is he losing the son that is not lost? What is propinquity without appreciation? Does absence make the heart grow fonder, and presence contempt? Why is he son at home penalised for staying at home while the son that leaves and comes back disgraced, rewarded?
For once, think about the non-prodigal son. His brother leaves and as the only other son he puts aside his dreams of travelling the world for stay at home and help his father. Yes, everything the father has belongs to him; he has no reason to be jealous. But he's working hard to save his father from the hard work and the grief of losing a son, and before he knows it, he's lost himself, sacrificed his dreams, his personality, his time, his future for the sake of the father.
At that time of course, he's just doing what he thinks and knows he should do, without considerations of remuneration and rewards, without begrudging the sacrifice. But compared to the reception and honour given to the lost brother, it suddenly occurs to him what is the freaking point? He might as well give in to all those irresponsible urges he's always wanting to pursue. After all, what's in it for him to stay at home and do all the work? A promise of a something something that is really not quite worth it? What's the use of having the father's house without a father in it?
If you ask me, the story of the Prodigal son is more than about the prodigal son, it's about how the 3 people in the story need to relate with and to each and one another and together. It's about each person and both persons and every person in that picture. You don't merely relate to one person; in your relating to that one, you're relating to everybody else as well. And by relating to everybody else, it makes for easier relating with that one.
Damn relationships are complex.
I really don't get why the prodigal son is the hero of the story. (Don't tell me the Father in the story is the hero, when the story is title "THE Prodigal Son". If the Father is really the hero, the story will be called "The FATHER of the Prodigal Son" won't it?)
Anyway, I was saying, the Prodigal Son is the one who's selfish and mercenary and who gets to enjoy the good life. I'm sorry if he had found himself a good investment banker for his millions instead of being so stupid about his money, he wouldn't have gone home to daddy but continued to live it up!
So is the real moral of the story, take the money and remember to get a good investment banker? Because it seems that the prodigal son is the only gainer in the whole story, the rest are losers.
I know the Father in the story has been approved as THE type of father to be - forgiving, not giving up, willing to welcome back a disgraced son etc etc. But sometimes I wonder why his focus is on the "lost" son and not appreciating and treasuring what he has at home already. But pining for his lost son, is he losing the son that is not lost? What is propinquity without appreciation? Does absence make the heart grow fonder, and presence contempt? Why is he son at home penalised for staying at home while the son that leaves and comes back disgraced, rewarded?
For once, think about the non-prodigal son. His brother leaves and as the only other son he puts aside his dreams of travelling the world for stay at home and help his father. Yes, everything the father has belongs to him; he has no reason to be jealous. But he's working hard to save his father from the hard work and the grief of losing a son, and before he knows it, he's lost himself, sacrificed his dreams, his personality, his time, his future for the sake of the father.
At that time of course, he's just doing what he thinks and knows he should do, without considerations of remuneration and rewards, without begrudging the sacrifice. But compared to the reception and honour given to the lost brother, it suddenly occurs to him what is the freaking point? He might as well give in to all those irresponsible urges he's always wanting to pursue. After all, what's in it for him to stay at home and do all the work? A promise of a something something that is really not quite worth it? What's the use of having the father's house without a father in it?
If you ask me, the story of the Prodigal son is more than about the prodigal son, it's about how the 3 people in the story need to relate with and to each and one another and together. It's about each person and both persons and every person in that picture. You don't merely relate to one person; in your relating to that one, you're relating to everybody else as well. And by relating to everybody else, it makes for easier relating with that one.
Damn relationships are complex.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)