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EMO-ALERT! EMO-ALERT! EMO-ALERT! EMO-ALERT!

Sometimes I need to cut myself some slack but as the guilty feeling keeps coming back to me it certainly scares the hell out of me - to think of myself sitting for the test papers, scratching my head and halted at every question, then marked a pathetic circle and proceeded to next one only to mark another on it. Spasmodically throwing a quick glance at the digital time on my cell phone made things worse so much so that I felt the clock to doomsday was ticking its way down into my test paper - Subtracting the heaven part I was definitely in hellfire waiting to be scorched down by inferno into a golden roasted pig that's served to the Satan and devoured into a pile of pathetic coal-black bones that continued to be burnt by the flames into dusts. Then the dusts would decompose into smaller and smaller particles then eventually into a BLACK HOLE that SUCKS!

Poem of Sienzness

I have this friend in KBU
He seems so cool and blue
In DOTA world he always rules
and in his study, too!

While realizing there's more to life
he devotes to a girl
who shines all her way down from
the old heart of Malacca.

I doubt if the Elephant Glue
is applied to they two
There's no way you can pull
them apart, for in love they rule!

100%?

Flashing back to few days ago, I saw myself lying on the bed, scribbling anime figures and right beside me, was a scatter of crumpled papers. My hand became more and more frantic as every drawing narrowly missed its completion and was reduced into paper balls that laid quietly beside a new slab of paper. All of which then became witness to my perfectionism, the stifling perfectionism as the pencil began to waltz on the white dance floor again.

*One hour later, I was on my bed, fast asleep - and a notable pile of snowballs in the dustbin.*

'Practice makes perfect' - Did i go too far into scribbling a perfection out of myself? Wouldn't that be too ideal as we all know perfection doesn't exist in this world? Aren't we born with limitations that imperfections are inherent in us (for example, we can't fly)? Why would I bother to draw something so flawless that I already knew it's impossible to do so?

As I looked back at the words, I had a thought: I shuffled the words and swapped the positions between first and third, and came up with this: Perfect makes practice. It somehow shed light on my scribbling business: I became slaved to perfection. It became tantalizing whenever I was in a hassle of redrawing the same figure and scrutinizing every little flaw my eyes could detect: I yearned for the perfect picture that I have forethought in my mind and it drove me into this rigmarole of redrawing and ended up with nothing else but fragments of false hopes. Hopes that I would eventually sketch a Shangri-La tomorrow, or the day after, or the week after...

So, the trinity must have had great stronghold in them to become a much-known adage to everyone. But little did I realize that something is very delicate behind what that's long since interpreted by me: I don't have to practice JUST TO reach perfections - Well, I don't have to chase the sun for its light, do I? I would just have to walk out into the porch and see how tall my plants have grown, how many flowers have they blossomed - it's all about the PROGRESS! it all comes down to IMPROVEMENTS! These little changes, these trivial transformations - and we are now breathing in the womb of Earth with all the richness around. However, is it perfect , this blue planet? With all the volcanoes and hurricanes and tsunamis? Yet, it nurtures the growth of every single breath it can possibly contain - something we should be more appreciative than the sheer Utopia. Something that are tangible rather than castle built on sand.

So, are we wrong to dream for perfection? Well, when the reality sinks in, dreams compensate nothing but mere dreams.

Silence

Silence is a language. It is a universal language.

It shows the duality of the nature. It is so powerful that it tears down all the established languages in the world. None of which can ever depict silence perfectly as a word. Words alone can never express it in its truest form. However, it counterparts languages. It completes sounds. Silence in its very nature demands the latter to exist autonomously.

In response to one of Sarah's posts in her studylog, we sometimes find feelings indescribable. We cannot find the exact word to define them. This is when we are reduced to silence. Sooner or later, our feelings overflow. Some of us might laugh indiscriminately, some of us may cry hysterically, some talk to counsellors... We begin to feel the need to voice up, the urge to kill the silence.

So, silence counterparts sounds, doesn't it? It may goes in the other way round, but after all, we assume a very mutual relationship by living with quietness. Some may however choose to talk, some may opt for being hushed: After all, when in silence, languages simply become redundant.

What More Can I Say?

Today EALD class was usual one, but Mr Derrick said something so remarkable that it urged me into writing this post right after reaching home: "You all overdramatize small little things in your blog... the generation of emo... "

Yes. I totally agree. In this stage of life, it's the daily dose of emo-ness that I thrive on to last my days. Notably, I prescribe two doses a day, one right after I wake up from sleep and another before I go to the bed. You can say that it's already an addiction, that I am so heavily accustomed to it's existence. Just like taking Ecstasy with its effects reversed. and I would throw a bet that upon reading here you would have started to question my sanity and even doubt that I'm on drug. But believe me, I wont go so low on things like that, and I'm still wise enough to keep my head.

But why emo-ness? why? I have tried to reason for the angst and anxiety in me everyday and in fact I find all sorts of explanations I came up with were ridiculous: Was it because I had depression two years ago and now is the aftermath? Or worse, the relapse of the illness? Then why do I always write deep posts in the blog now? Futile posts ranting all sorts of philosophies or slices of life which only feed on my mere imaginations, and once the supply has run out all of them would just go into dustbin! The vain pretense of know-it-all that would just be stampeded like an underdog in reality!

Everyday I professed happiness, I feigned smiles, I pretended as if I were open to criticisms and judgements - and now I am wiriting this emo post. The discrepancy of my outer self and inner self - my assessment of people - I feel so tired and frustrated everyday I reached my room in Student House. In fact, I really want to tell here that I have little or no capacity to keep my feelings, though I have spared some for the unspeakable ones. This blog may not be a personal blog, but I just want to relate to what Mr Derrick said, with half hoping everyone would share my thoughts in this post: In fact, I have seen people smiled at me and the next moment they didn't even acknowledge my existense, or sometimes eyed me coldly without a word; I tried to join people but eventually I was left alone walking out of classroom; I gave myself false hope and tried to be immuned to the fact that I was marginalised, but it was proved to be an epic fail because I am writing this post at this moment; I yielded and yielded and yielded and now shrank into a dark corner. So what the hell are all these? Huh? Should I say people who write these pessimistic shits actually try to beg for mercy or attention, that they are so pathetic to resort to advertising their misfortunes on a study log? the "overdramatize of little things"?

Daniel had once claimed, which I remember clearly, that if i don't change my mindset of this emo-ness, my life will be tough. I heed to it and for a period of time I strove to change, be optimistic, expecting to get a good friend around here. Just one that wouldn't judge me for how many marks I get, how clever I am, how ugly and fat I look. Just one in whom I can have faith. But that's proved to be useless now. Maybe the first six months of being engrossed in my world of emo-ness simply put me in the current karma.

I am surrounded by people of ingenuity, but can I be a genuine friend to them? I have an answer, and yet I don't.

The Masquerade and the Mirror

Daniel's blog header rang something in my head.

''We live Our Life Through Many Phases and Also Faces.''

Daniel, I hope its not copyrighted. Ha ha.

Well, I quoted this, partly because I like the assonance in that header, and what counterparts it, in my opinion, would be the last word that drove me into writing this post today.

During my high-school year, I took part in the school drama team. It was actually established the year I first entered secondary school, and during the five-year time It had quite a glorious winning records, though. Well, I'm not going to talk about the team itself, but the other opponent teams I met during the drama competition. I had this notion, when first enrolled in drama, that the plays would mostly be revolving around fairytale like sappy damsel-in-distress cliches and a lot of props and backdrops. However, to my utmost surprise, the issues portrayed by the drama teams were much more real, solemn and reflective. One of which was 'The Masquerade'. The play started out as three friends tried to conceal their own secrets from each other, but ended up with revelation of truth and how they tried to cope up with their problems. The drama title was a witty one, figuratively it meant that the main characters were wearing masks, masked from the truth and yet they were friends. Sarcastic indeed.

Daniel's header is quite understandable for everyone. It is very true, isn't it? Our entity seems to get nebulous from time to time: we are different people to different people. Our personality become so volatile that it seems so impossible to be true to ourselves. But, why?

Because this is the reality.

It's hypocritical to claim that one is always the same all the time. I'd say life has taught us to hold different perspectives at different things because this world is ever-changing. We are in an ever-changing dimension. From the minuscule passing of a second to the alternation of night and day, changes are cumulative. That's why we become different person, better or worse, because changes are transitional. The very nature of changing is so irresistible that we start to wonder:

Masquerade or Mirror?

We are the masquerades, ostentatious in order to disguise our insecurity. People around us, on the other hand, are the mirrors, the agent to whom we can normally compare ourselves. Everyone is a walking mirror, reflecting different things in different phases of life. This reasons for the fact that we learn and acquire knowledge from time to time. This reasons for our changes. It is us who put on the masquerades to refuse people from looking through us. An instinctive reaction to ease our insecurity. So, where do we find the middle line? Are we to feign smiles all the times but licking our wound in a corner when nobody's around? Or lose ourself from taling blinding behind people? In fact, I don't know. Everyone has their own notion, and thus the assumed middle line is subjective.

So, Masquerade and Mirror are inevitable in our life. Learn to live and adjust ourselves to it, and life'd be much more simple and easy-going.

I am sorry, Cal.

I was awakened, today morning, by incessant vibrating noises. Someone rang me.

It was Calvin.

"Cal has died." (Cal is a hamster)

I went silent for a moment. Then the rest of the conversation on the phone revolved around questions like when and how it died, and more importantly, what to do with the body. The call ended with myself overwhelmed by a surreal feeling - Cal's death seemed promising yesterday - with its unusual inactive and feeble look cowering in the corner, I thought its time was about to up. Next day, the news reached me. Exactly tantamount to a dream, unforeseen and unchained. I felt surprised upon hearing the news, but the feeling faded so quickly that it left me void of emotions. Not even a faintest streak of sadness. Indeed, I have expected its death beforehand, yet surprised by the truth that it's dead. I presumed the destiny of this little creature on the day it reeked of bad omen yet I, at the bottom of my heart, ridiculously denied it. I didn't want it to die though I knew it's going to. I have even promised myself to clean the cage and play with it on the day I am back to the hostel. But Cal failed my promise: It spared the planned quality time. Later in the noon today, I went back to student's house and Calvin had already thrown its body along with the dirtied sawdust into the garbage bin outside. According to Calvin, the dead body was actually devoured by its own species, another hamster he and I reared in the same cage. Courage dwindled in me at the prospect of looking at its incomplete blood-stained carcass, or worst, the fact it was headless. I didn't even look for the garbage bin. However, the cage was washed and there was a card box next to it. I held it up and found Kilo inside, Cal's counterpart (In fact I still have difficulties recognizing them both, only to identify the one with black spot on the forehead is Kilo - it doesn't matter anymore now). I stared at the hamster, and saw a ticking clock in it. I guessed that it had the faintest idea of what had happened: Tearing pieces of meat from its chum would probably mean a new menu today, after having cracked so many sunflower seeds and corns in the past few months. Does it feel anything about Cal's death? Or devouring friend is some sort of twisted customary practice for hamster's funeral? Maybe If I were to ask Kilo in hamster tongue: Does the death of your friend ring something to you? Do you know that your own time is ticking too?

After a short discussion, Calvin and I determined to either take care of it or send it away. Maybe some pet shops would take it - Conspicuously I wanted to shrug off the responsibilities. Everyone knows what fate that awaits the forlorn Kilo in its small world. The answer is so final that the way of dealing with it is as absolute: either face it or leave it. Immediately after the death of Cal, I had this intention of getting rid of Kilo. It was because knowing the same fate that Kilo shares is as dreadful as picturing worst scenario on the day before Cal died and became indifferent when it occurred. It dawns to me that it's futile to think that oneself is more than ready to deal with all the possible consequences by making prognostications, but become apathetic when the truth has finally emerged. To be indifferent is to deny reality. To be indifferent is to shift your responsibilities to others. It's what escapist would do - and today, I see the escapism in me through Cal's death. I detest feeling sad and grief and disappointed. I despise them so much so that the death of Cal has become frivolous matter to me.

Two years back, I plunged into the similar condition when my endearing grandmother died of cancer. Now, I am typing this post, thinking when was the last time i cried. Without the courage to confront your conscience and feelings, humans shall lose what that are innate to them. I doubt if I am ever humane to be so emotionless. Reminiscing the moment when Calvin and I tapped on the glass window to signify our choice of hamsters, it certainly hurts to look at my indifference now. Anyways, I know what to do now. I certainly do - Kilo deserves to live under the same roof with me, or is worthy of my cares and loves until Calvin and I decide a better place for it.