Post 160: This will be the first public post I’ve had with this much swears.
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Some questions are BETTER LEFT UNASKED
WHAT THE FUCK
SHITTING FUCK
SHITFUCKSTICKS
BEFORE YOU ASK ANY QUESTION, PLEASE ASK YOURSELF ANOTHER. DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE ANSWER IS? AFTER HEARING THE ANSWER, I REALISE THAT I DID NOT WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCKING ANSWER WAS. SHAO YOU FUCKING DUMBFUCK
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I am slightly okay now but I want to vomit and everything still seems unreal
🙁
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aah i have gastric
It’s an interesting experience to write up a post on my iPod’s smashed screen; it’s almost akin to an interactive stained-glass window that looks as good as it is functionally helpful. Not at all. I could just write existential words such as “why” and take pictures of the result. It might get reblogged on Tumblr a lot. I almost took a screenshot of my broken screen.
I’ve been a free-thinker for a few months already. At least I think so. No point in following some religion which you don’t know nothing about, right? I still believe that there’s a Big Man Upstairs.
I don’t like how things and people change. Fun’s not fun any more. But it’s the finals year so whatever.
I’m partially afraid that I may have been an accident/adoption/accidental adoption… My parents don’t ever tell me how they’ve met and thus I’ve never learnt to love. That was a joke, I’ve said too much but I don’t think it’s true.
I’m such a yes man, because if I start saying ‘no’, people get mad which I really don’t like.
This screen is hard to read from.
I wish I could document someone’s life a la The Office. Sounds like loads of fun.
I think I have an idea on how to make the class montage.
I am imperially screwed for blocks. I don’t think I’ll be able to read half of anything by next week.
I wish I was good at something, just something. I have friends that are good at things. Art. Music. Appearances. I want to be proud of myself for once, and I want to be able to express myself better because I’m not good like that.
I want to have a reason, a good one, to stay.
It’s like 3am and I can’t freaking sleep so here I am.
I’ve been unable to sleep well ever since a week ago when I came to the conclusion that I required social connections to be happy. In fact, I’ve stopped being unhappy and stopped caring, but I’ve stopped being happy and able to sleep early as well. Yes, I don’t understand myself either.
I was so huge when I was younger. I want to slap my young self so bad.
To my main point.
So two days ago, I attended my primary school class reunion. We had only 2 classes of GEP students so it was easy to socialize and stuff, everyone knew one another and well, life was pretty great. There’s no one I dislike from this group of friends I have and I guess it’s pretty hard to come by.
But man, man, after hearing the stories they had, those about nightmarish breakups, doing really (people getting drunk-ass, knocking up with others, general things that make you go “why doesn’t anything happen in MY school?) wild things, and even relationships that I was practically oblivious to… It kind of shatters that one ‘perfect’ image you’ve had; the one where all of these people used to be KIDS who squealed upon hearing swears. All the happy innocent memories of ‘catching’, childish escapades and classes replaced with tears, vice and broken hearts.
It’s even stupider (More stupid? Dumber? Stupid to a greater extent?) that I didn’t know any of that. I mean, we’re talking about me going “WHAT?!” every minute, things that only happen in dramas and stuff (I’m usually the one to make others go “WHAT?!” once a day so it’s extra weird) I used to think that I hung out with these people a lot, and clearly I’ve been leaving a tad early every time we had a reunion. I’ve really, really missed out catching up with my friends. That is a terrible pity.
Also, it is glaringly obvious that I did not have a social life then. It’s a terrible thing to suddenly realise that you’re actually an innocent INTROVERT after 7.5 years of bloody delusion.
For Pete’s sake, I only started caring about my own appearance last year. Damnit.
I left the reunion at nearly midnight, with more questions about myself than I’d have liked.
But the great thing about this is that this goes to show that the current friends I have are more perfect than I think, that they’re all just relatable, pure and perfectly fantastic people whom I know very well indeed and whom I deserve to think of in the best way possible. That’s… a pretty, pretty nice thought to have.
Thanks for reading this. You’re a great person.
So that was inSYNC. I don’t have the right to say or judge anything about this event given that my duties entailed entering the school after noon and taking photos and delivering Koi (which is overrated! I mean the Koi, not the delivery of Koi. Also, 9 cups are pretty heavy)
It’s like a spin-off of See², much like how a documentary of my life would be a spin-off of a documentary of yours. It’s interesting, but you probably don’t think that my life is as important as yours.
The proposals seem way more… To put it nicely, basic, but three days just isn’t enough for a bunch of kids without experience to suddenly learn how to think critically, in the way that plugs up loopholes and incites awe. So they had loopholes and didn’t impress me.
I got to re-meet people whom I’ve met two years ago, one year ago… It’s really really wonderful to have all these juniors come up, extend their arms and yell my name out in glee (rare that anyone uses this word). Everyone likes me! Yay! It feels pretty good.
They’re all great people, but inSync and See²… These things are over for an indefinite period of time. That’s another story for another day.
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Recently, I’ve been hooked up on the idea on what makes me happy. Material comforts aren’t enough any more.
What makes me glad are special moments.
The moments when I am able to connect to people on a level way higher than simply understanding and communicating; when the people I am working, playing or just hanging out with are able to connect, sympathise, laugh, mope and all of that with me with near-perfect synchronicity. I like being part of something and being a vital cog in an ever-moving machine of all that good stuff.
Maybe I am too socially pessimistic.
I’m just really glad when people want me around. Doesn’t take much else to cheer me up. But it doesn’t take me much to become unhappy either.
And this is why I think I’m too clingy to people nowadays. The lack of any form of social contact means that I lack such a response. I get lonely often. I value friendships a ton.
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If it takes more for me to be happy now, does it mean that I’ve become more mature or childish?
I guess that’s the next big question for me.
When I started this year off, I used to have a list of resolutions, some silly resolutions that don’t really contribute to anything.
Resolutions like, don’t let things get to you, go on runs every day, seize the day everyday.
Things get to me. I didn’t manage to go running every day. Some days are still forgettable.
But I’ve realised, that (it might be foolish to quote sitcoms but heck it) to do things for yourself is bad, and that helping others is good. There is no easier way to be proud and happy of yourself. (Community is great.)
With a flower, with the mustering of courage, with a few words; I get a slowly-formed smile, a word of thanks. Everything bad, wrong and in-between blurs out of focus. Muster the courage to get what you want, rather than waiting and hoping.
Seize it, seize every day, every chance that you can get. Chances are, you’ll come out smiling.
Thank you, roses. Thank you, stage curtains, for giving me a job to do. Thank you, name withheld, for giving that tiny push. Thank you, Dancenight, for being an event to remember. (Maybe it wasn’t.)
I don’t care if this happiness, this optimism, is fleeting or not.
Life is great again.
that seems like a load of rambling
Life seems kind of hollow now. I don’t feel the excitement I used to have, the enthusiasm for living life in the way I like it.
I’m not sure if I’m an optimist for hoping for things to happen, or a pessimist for knowing that they won’t.
I feel like I’ve lost something, something great, something that used to be just… there.
And it sucks, it really sucks that such thoughts are invading my mind every waking moment I have.
Maybe this ‘thing’ I lost never really existed in the first place.
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Dancenight tomorrow, going to be promising for sure.
I’m trapped, I realise, in this dimension where nothing ever makes sense any more.
So-called “friends” come up to me to argue, to argue that I’m wrong, so that they get to maintain whatever’s left of their ego.
I feel stranded. Alone at every junction. Distrusted because I couldn’t shut my damn gab. I find myself outside, alone, much more often than I used to be.
I used to not care about any of this… With each passing day, I grow ever-increasingly tired. I haven’t slept well in 2 weeks, and I fear I’ll be tired for even longer.
I’m just so tired. Tired of second-guessing what others’ characters. Tired of how people change. Tired of constantly being the one giving in…
I don’t really know anything any more.
I pass her the sunflower and she gives me a wide grin in return.
My words become lost to the noise of the crowd as she hurries off with a friend of hers.
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My ticket, fresh from her hands, glares at me with lifeless, uniformly arranged letters; black on white.
CENTRE-1, SEAT K17
I glance up at the sparsely populated concert hall. The seats are grand, the ceiling is pretty damn high and the stage looks magnificent. A smile forms from the thin line I made with my mouth, while my eyes scanned the seats for their numbers.
Then I realized.
These are front row seats.
I bought great, bloody front row seats.
Great, bloody, centred front row seats.
I’m 10 seats away from the closest aisle to my right. No student ever buys front row seats? Well, hi there.
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I’ve never really been the kind of person to say no with ease. Saying “what only S$25 seats are left? No way” is an incredibly pretentious thing to do in my book. So I pay, in the graciously generous form of $10 more, from my books. I also paid in the form of coming alone. If you’re going to nitpick, then I suppose being surrounded by old men and aunties can’t really be counted as being “alone”.
My nagging conscience told me to buy flowers for this performance. It’s only right to do so, it said. It’s gonna be cheap anyway, it said. The flowers on display seemed nice. They were chrysanthemums. Nah. I asked for a recommendation. The store owner said there was one sunflower left, at $5.50. Eventually, she persuaded me to purchase the wrapping for $2 and the ribbon for $0.50.
I’d say there was a pattern emerging, but patterns don’t usually look this ugly… Or pricey, for that matter.
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The concert begins.
I happen to be sitting next to the only person in the entire concert hall that has phlegm in her throat. Fortunately (for her health, really), she manages to keep it under control.
Bows weave side to side, melding with harmony and emitting a distinctly ghostly and haunting tune. The conductor’s arm sweeps emphasize every note the musicians play. Heads bob and backs hunch in unison. Eyes dart from the sheets to the conductor. Drums pump adrenaline through my veins with every beat they make.
The concert ends.
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A queue is set up for an autograph session. I find myself shoved near the front, so I stand behind a kid who doesn’t know what awesomeness he’d been through and before an elderly gentleman. The various conductors and players smile and ask the kid his age, but let their faces fall as they see me, and happily greet the apparently-esteemed music teacher behind me.
Sigh.
Such is the way of life, I think to myself, and started brainstorming of ways to sell off this autographed booklet.
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I trudge through the streets of Shenton Way, through a foreboding concrete complex, further and further away from Tanjong Pagar.
The road seems desolate enough, with cars littered along its side. Bright, empty, classy skyscrapers stare down at me, casting long shadows along the streets. Oddly, this brings about a sense of calm.
I walk past the bay. Hundreds of people are taking photos of the water’s surface, empty except for the lights reflected off the cityscape.
I start feeling uncomfortable, from all the people holding hands, DSLRs and beer mugs. I quicken my pace.
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I’ve friends who’ve headed conferences, who play instruments and get invited overseas or play for national orchestras, who play in bands…
When’ll it be my turn to mean something?
I’ve been so tired lately.
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I opened up Facebook today, and saw post-concert photos of her with the sunflower.
And suddenly everything feels right again.
No I am not hitting on her or anything it’s just that I was relieved she didn’t throw it away