My thoughts keep going back to you, that night so many nights ago when you had your arms outstretched towards me and enveloping me with those strong arms one minute later. I was standing at the pool, not in but right at the edge, and you looked at me with that look and smiled. And it stuck. What did? I don't know for sure. The memory, the smile, that look, the love.
From then on it's been a buzz of clear melodrama. One moment of static and the next, a jolt of sound on the radio as I tune in to your heartbeat.
I want this moment to pass without due respect to time. Driving back yesterday in the slight drizzle after the rain and after that last kiss that seemed to linger on for hours leaving me dizzy with the after effects, I thought of how beautiful we could have been, and were. You kissed me in the car for the first time, remember? It was night in a dark alley, and so much more could have happened, but it was just an innocent kiss. I had gummy bears right before, and you asked me why I was shy. But I was. You had that effect on me.
I've told myself a billion times to be strong. Rational. Less emotional. Less sensitive. I wonder if I could be strong without you, really. Remember what you said? You said I coloured your world, and you, to me, helped me separate the mess of coloured threads that made my life and gave meaning to it all. But I know, it's the right thing, isn't it? But why does right have to hurt?
I could give plenty of reasons to erase many memories in time, but with you, I'd rather keep them. I'll keep you tucked underneath my blanket at night, and to have you keep me warm. Not you, physically, but the memories.
We are all masters of our own fates, but we will never really know what will happen. All I ask from you is that you would think of me fondly once in a while and promise me you'll try. If our hearts shall beat together again, will you allow them to? No inhibitions, just love. Pure. Just. And beautiful.
One day you will look at me with that look again. Scratch my back for me again. And make those funny noises you do in the car. Or clap out of tune to the music that is playing on the radio. You'd do all that and more.
I wanted to say so much yesterday but all I could do was cry. I wanted to say "thank you". I wanted to say "I love you". But they got stuck somewhere. And it's funny, really. And I will never want to forget.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
This Is When My Youth Ends
It's quiet at night here, where I am sitting facing my laptop screen, with only the sound of distant crickets and the soft blowing of the fan. It's pretty sudden, the missing, the aching, the pining of times past, of lost memories and childhood and those phone conversations we had in the past. I suddenly remember those moments so many years ago when I was seventeen, hiding in the dark downstairs with the cordless phone in the house, dodging my parents and their squealing and complaints of the exorbitant amount the phone bills always came up to.
Funny. Back then it felt like a task, like mission impossible playing in my life.
But I miss those moments most. I mourn the loss of my youth with the realisation that my childhood friends are getting hitched. I had a very good friend back in Form 6, when I was eighteen. I struggled all through Form 6, because of the many issues I had and stumbling in between the psychiatrist's office and home, I found my way into his car in the late evenings, spending hours upon hours with plain conversations. The attraction was there, I suspected, but it remained a platonic friendship, and one I certainly miss. Where are those days now? Why must every single male-female friendship these days seem more complicated than they ever were?
I recall those days with a smile. I'd mention his name, this friend of mine who always had a joke on his lips every single day, entertaining everyone including himself. His best skills were playing the guitar, running and football. Remember the song "Pupus"? Until today it's stuck in my head because of you. And I recall those days when we were close, when he and I were friends, when he cheered me up simply when I was down. I always thought those days would never end. But they did. They ended when I left town, and I never really came back. Sure, I did, every once in a while, but I never saw him. It's funny. I don't even remember how he looks like now. The only remains of his memory is this medal he dedicated to me, hanging from the mirror in my room at home. How I miss his smile, his laughter, his warmth. And this aching is multiplied now that I met someone who reminds me of him.
There were also those days, remember? Of spending them with her in the public library after school every single day. We'd study and laugh, and spent our evenings sitting outside the library making silly antics that others would hopefully find bizzarre. There was also "tok kura-kura", remember? This old man with his bicycle whom we thought resembled "tok kura-kura" from Dragonball so much. I miss him. I miss seeing him with his steady old bicycle, riding past every day. Remember when it rained, back then? We'd fold our pants up and play in the rain. If it became flooded, even the better. We'd skip in the knee-high water, and splashed our worries away. I remember how you felt when you suffered loss. We spoke about your mother a lot, remember? I wanted so badly to wipe your ache away, but all I could do was to sit beside you while you cried. We became best friends that way, you and I. How I miss those days. And how I miss you.
What changed, I wonder? I look back on all these years and I can't seem to point to a day when everything started morphing into the complexity of what it is today. I miss you. Please come back. Come home to me. But you can't. The days are gone, and this is how I will be spending the rest of the days. This is when my youth ends: with friends building families, lost childhood memories, and old flames settling down for good. For good, of course.
But if he ever did, I don't know how I will ever take it.
Funny. Back then it felt like a task, like mission impossible playing in my life.
But I miss those moments most. I mourn the loss of my youth with the realisation that my childhood friends are getting hitched. I had a very good friend back in Form 6, when I was eighteen. I struggled all through Form 6, because of the many issues I had and stumbling in between the psychiatrist's office and home, I found my way into his car in the late evenings, spending hours upon hours with plain conversations. The attraction was there, I suspected, but it remained a platonic friendship, and one I certainly miss. Where are those days now? Why must every single male-female friendship these days seem more complicated than they ever were?
I recall those days with a smile. I'd mention his name, this friend of mine who always had a joke on his lips every single day, entertaining everyone including himself. His best skills were playing the guitar, running and football. Remember the song "Pupus"? Until today it's stuck in my head because of you. And I recall those days when we were close, when he and I were friends, when he cheered me up simply when I was down. I always thought those days would never end. But they did. They ended when I left town, and I never really came back. Sure, I did, every once in a while, but I never saw him. It's funny. I don't even remember how he looks like now. The only remains of his memory is this medal he dedicated to me, hanging from the mirror in my room at home. How I miss his smile, his laughter, his warmth. And this aching is multiplied now that I met someone who reminds me of him.
There were also those days, remember? Of spending them with her in the public library after school every single day. We'd study and laugh, and spent our evenings sitting outside the library making silly antics that others would hopefully find bizzarre. There was also "tok kura-kura", remember? This old man with his bicycle whom we thought resembled "tok kura-kura" from Dragonball so much. I miss him. I miss seeing him with his steady old bicycle, riding past every day. Remember when it rained, back then? We'd fold our pants up and play in the rain. If it became flooded, even the better. We'd skip in the knee-high water, and splashed our worries away. I remember how you felt when you suffered loss. We spoke about your mother a lot, remember? I wanted so badly to wipe your ache away, but all I could do was to sit beside you while you cried. We became best friends that way, you and I. How I miss those days. And how I miss you.
What changed, I wonder? I look back on all these years and I can't seem to point to a day when everything started morphing into the complexity of what it is today. I miss you. Please come back. Come home to me. But you can't. The days are gone, and this is how I will be spending the rest of the days. This is when my youth ends: with friends building families, lost childhood memories, and old flames settling down for good. For good, of course.
But if he ever did, I don't know how I will ever take it.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Being Alive and Happy
We got our scripts last night for our first Theatre for Young People (T4YP) performance, entitled "Ten", which will be showing in KLPac next month. I don't know about the rest the cast, but I know one thing's for sure: I am excited! It took me some time - a little longer than expected, perhaps - but realisation dawned when I finally got home after watching Ironman today, and I thought to myself, with tune and all, "what a wonderful world".
For the first time in a very long time last night, I hesitated for a long moment before deciding the answer to this question, "Are you depressed at the moment?" I would usually know the answer right away, that I was obviously deeply depressed by the state of my mind, state of my being, and just by being here on earth.
But yesterday, I hesitated. I questioned whether I was depressed. And although I stood at the "yes" zone, deep inside I realised that I wasn't DEPRESSED. I was far from it.
I looked through the archive of my old blog, and read some of my past entries, trying to recall what it felt like to be depressed, and if I bore any resemblance right now to how I felt back then. Here are some excerpts:
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Every day I walk the earth, I feel a greater sense of remorse and grief. I am eating yet another person's bowl of rice, denying another child that right to food. This child could be the person to create the cure for cancer. This child could be the person to create an atmosphere of warmth and love for thousands of other people out there. But who am I? Who am I to be taking away this child's right? I am, obviously, not creating nor am I close to creating the cure to cancer. I am obviously not bringing joy to anyone else's life right now, much less to the lives of a thousand people out there.
Monday, January 21, 2008
"You are a 40-year-old trapped in a 15-year-old's body"
An old person in a young body, a sad person with a bubbly personality... Why do so many extreme opposites exist in my life?
I'm sinking deeper and deeper into depression; I'm afraid I'll never recover this time. I gather all my strength and courage, and realise that there is nothing that makes or breaks a person more than the feeling of being crushed.
What was it I said last week? Oh yeah. That. "Nothing makes you stronger than being pushed to breaking point, when everything feels so wrong and you could never be sadder than that."
Of course. Nothing. But this.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
So there I was, sitting in Murni, after a heated discussion and a waiter who came up to me and commented that I was pretty; adding up to the oddness of a night that was yesterday, and all of a sudden I just curled. Literally. I wanted to go home. My shawl wrapped tightly around me, I had wanted to hurl it away, take my clothes off, and run home.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't outrage. I hardly had any energy to care if my food was coming, even after waiting for half an hour. I could hardly muster up enough strength to raise my hand to enquire. Because at that very moment, all I wanted to do was to go home. I wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted it to disappear, along with my physical self, from this earth that we call home. Because I felt as if I had no home - no place to belong - and I felt small, and all alone.
We left. He bought some food for me, although I barely had any appetite to eat, and I was sure that my stomach was unable to digest any bits and pieces of food. But he bought it anyway. We went home. I ate. He watched. And then I sat and poured my heart out. I could think of a billion reasons for a heartache... breakups, divorce, broken friendships, losing your favourite book, ruining your favourite outfit, being homeless, or even having your partner cheating on you. But how do you comprehend something when your heartache is there merely because of your existence? How could simply being on earth, cause you so much pain?
There are nights when I come home, kick my shoes off, lie in bed, and I wonder, I wonder, if I will ever find a purpose to being. A purpose to this life.
Of course, it is much easier to blame it all on the weather. Rainy days make you sick. But I thank God for blessing me with someone who, despite it all, sees through me and holds my hand and tells me "it's not your fault". I remember asking, "But is it really?" But I don't want to know the answer. Never.
~~~
I only went as far back as the beginning of 2008 because this was "me" merely a few months back. This was "me" before I decided that I had to do the things I love doing in my life in order for me to love life. This was "me" before I fell in love with LIFE all over again.
This was "me" then. I was unhappy.
I used to think that I would only be happy if I made others happy. I used to think that I had to make a difference in other people's lives to be happy. I would feel extremely selfish if I ever had the slightest glimmer of wanting to be happy for myself; I would often feel like it was selfish mistake. But now I see it differently, and if anything, more clearly. If all of us were put here on earth for a reason, and if all of us are essentially looking for happiness, by pleasing ourselves and making ourselves happy, we may essentially be making everyone else happy as well. To each our own. Our own lives. Our own faith. Our own happiness.
What a difference a small time can make. I used to work on too many operatives like "tomorrow" or "yesterday", dwelling on my past and hoping too much for my future. But now, there is only one operative word that comes to mind - TODAY. And today, I am smiling. Today, I am happy.
Today, I am IN LOVE with LIFE.
Today, I am ALIVE.
For the first time in a very long time last night, I hesitated for a long moment before deciding the answer to this question, "Are you depressed at the moment?" I would usually know the answer right away, that I was obviously deeply depressed by the state of my mind, state of my being, and just by being here on earth.
But yesterday, I hesitated. I questioned whether I was depressed. And although I stood at the "yes" zone, deep inside I realised that I wasn't DEPRESSED. I was far from it.
I looked through the archive of my old blog, and read some of my past entries, trying to recall what it felt like to be depressed, and if I bore any resemblance right now to how I felt back then. Here are some excerpts:
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Every day I walk the earth, I feel a greater sense of remorse and grief. I am eating yet another person's bowl of rice, denying another child that right to food. This child could be the person to create the cure for cancer. This child could be the person to create an atmosphere of warmth and love for thousands of other people out there. But who am I? Who am I to be taking away this child's right? I am, obviously, not creating nor am I close to creating the cure to cancer. I am obviously not bringing joy to anyone else's life right now, much less to the lives of a thousand people out there.
Monday, January 21, 2008
"You are a 40-year-old trapped in a 15-year-old's body"
An old person in a young body, a sad person with a bubbly personality... Why do so many extreme opposites exist in my life?
I'm sinking deeper and deeper into depression; I'm afraid I'll never recover this time. I gather all my strength and courage, and realise that there is nothing that makes or breaks a person more than the feeling of being crushed.
What was it I said last week? Oh yeah. That. "Nothing makes you stronger than being pushed to breaking point, when everything feels so wrong and you could never be sadder than that."
Of course. Nothing. But this.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
So there I was, sitting in Murni, after a heated discussion and a waiter who came up to me and commented that I was pretty; adding up to the oddness of a night that was yesterday, and all of a sudden I just curled. Literally. I wanted to go home. My shawl wrapped tightly around me, I had wanted to hurl it away, take my clothes off, and run home.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't outrage. I hardly had any energy to care if my food was coming, even after waiting for half an hour. I could hardly muster up enough strength to raise my hand to enquire. Because at that very moment, all I wanted to do was to go home. I wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted it to disappear, along with my physical self, from this earth that we call home. Because I felt as if I had no home - no place to belong - and I felt small, and all alone.
We left. He bought some food for me, although I barely had any appetite to eat, and I was sure that my stomach was unable to digest any bits and pieces of food. But he bought it anyway. We went home. I ate. He watched. And then I sat and poured my heart out. I could think of a billion reasons for a heartache... breakups, divorce, broken friendships, losing your favourite book, ruining your favourite outfit, being homeless, or even having your partner cheating on you. But how do you comprehend something when your heartache is there merely because of your existence? How could simply being on earth, cause you so much pain?
There are nights when I come home, kick my shoes off, lie in bed, and I wonder, I wonder, if I will ever find a purpose to being. A purpose to this life.
Of course, it is much easier to blame it all on the weather. Rainy days make you sick. But I thank God for blessing me with someone who, despite it all, sees through me and holds my hand and tells me "it's not your fault". I remember asking, "But is it really?" But I don't want to know the answer. Never.
I only went as far back as the beginning of 2008 because this was "me" merely a few months back. This was "me" before I decided that I had to do the things I love doing in my life in order for me to love life. This was "me" before I fell in love with LIFE all over again.
This was "me" then. I was unhappy.
I used to think that I would only be happy if I made others happy. I used to think that I had to make a difference in other people's lives to be happy. I would feel extremely selfish if I ever had the slightest glimmer of wanting to be happy for myself; I would often feel like it was selfish mistake. But now I see it differently, and if anything, more clearly. If all of us were put here on earth for a reason, and if all of us are essentially looking for happiness, by pleasing ourselves and making ourselves happy, we may essentially be making everyone else happy as well. To each our own. Our own lives. Our own faith. Our own happiness.
What a difference a small time can make. I used to work on too many operatives like "tomorrow" or "yesterday", dwelling on my past and hoping too much for my future. But now, there is only one operative word that comes to mind - TODAY. And today, I am smiling. Today, I am happy.
Today, I am IN LOVE with LIFE.
Today, I am ALIVE.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The missing :)
Yesterday, while waiting for time to pass and the rain to subside, I was sitting inside my car in the KLPac carpark area. With the sound of the gentle drops of the rain providing a certain melody to my aching ears, I silently looked out for that whisper. Sometimes, when it rains, the winds will blow a sharp breeze - a high-pitched sound generated by nature and difficult to be emulated by any other - that will sound like a whisper when you truly listened to it enough.
But the whisper never materialised.
I took my notebook out, sang some songs to entertain myself (I hate the rain), and started writing.
Dead, I was
It was all but one
My life died before my eyes
Grasping the threads of reality
As you walked away from my sight
Blinded, I was
Too much to see in too little time
Although it felt absolute was necessary
Giving you my life felt ordinary
With an odd mix of sorrow and joy
I allowed you to walk past me
Slithered beneath my feet, and
creating larger footsteps than before
You were but a reality
All but one
And I died, I cried,
I was blinded with joy and sorrow
A cannonball of emotions
for me to swallow
Though this seemed less poetic than any other pieces I've written before, I know one thing's for sure - those words reflect how I felt exactly.
It's funny, and I realise it myself. The "me" I supposedly show the world is not the person I really am, deep inside. I'm not the happy, crazy person everyone thinks I am. I wonder how everyone will think of me once they know the truth, and how they will handle this betrayal. Unfortunately, that's not for me to say. I know that even he can't handle my sorrow any further. But I wish they would understand that I wish not to be sorrowful as I am. I want to be happy too.
And I think I deserve just as much as everyone else to be happy. Sadly, it feels easier to depict sorrow in my appearances. Any other emotions/appearances always seemed easier than to depict joy. What is joy to me, truly?
I'm often reminded of what a friend said the first time he met me, after reading my blog for a few years. "You're very different from the way you portray yourself in your blog," he'd said. I asked, "How different?" And he said, "You're so spunky, in real life. But your blog is always so sad." Another friend commented on how I would have deceived people into thinking I'm an emo freak who doesn't laugh or smile with all my sad entries.
But maybe THIS is what I really am. Maybe when my face is putting on the greatest smile, maybe my heart just isn't. There's a missing smiley sign there, and I don't quite know how to put it back.
But the whisper never materialised.
I took my notebook out, sang some songs to entertain myself (I hate the rain), and started writing.
Dead, I was
It was all but one
My life died before my eyes
Grasping the threads of reality
As you walked away from my sight
Blinded, I was
Too much to see in too little time
Although it felt absolute was necessary
Giving you my life felt ordinary
With an odd mix of sorrow and joy
I allowed you to walk past me
Slithered beneath my feet, and
creating larger footsteps than before
You were but a reality
All but one
And I died, I cried,
I was blinded with joy and sorrow
A cannonball of emotions
for me to swallow
Though this seemed less poetic than any other pieces I've written before, I know one thing's for sure - those words reflect how I felt exactly.
It's funny, and I realise it myself. The "me" I supposedly show the world is not the person I really am, deep inside. I'm not the happy, crazy person everyone thinks I am. I wonder how everyone will think of me once they know the truth, and how they will handle this betrayal. Unfortunately, that's not for me to say. I know that even he can't handle my sorrow any further. But I wish they would understand that I wish not to be sorrowful as I am. I want to be happy too.
And I think I deserve just as much as everyone else to be happy. Sadly, it feels easier to depict sorrow in my appearances. Any other emotions/appearances always seemed easier than to depict joy. What is joy to me, truly?
I'm often reminded of what a friend said the first time he met me, after reading my blog for a few years. "You're very different from the way you portray yourself in your blog," he'd said. I asked, "How different?" And he said, "You're so spunky, in real life. But your blog is always so sad." Another friend commented on how I would have deceived people into thinking I'm an emo freak who doesn't laugh or smile with all my sad entries.
But maybe THIS is what I really am. Maybe when my face is putting on the greatest smile, maybe my heart just isn't. There's a missing smiley sign there, and I don't quite know how to put it back.
Only Hope?
There's a line from the song "Only Hope" by Mandy Moore from the movie "A Walk to Remember" that goes, "When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again."
I'm sure there are many reasons people may feel compelled to believe in God, or to have faith in a Higher Being. Faith is a magical thing, truly, because without it, most of us turn into bitter, stoic human beings with no sense of duty towards self and even less duty towards others. Losing faith is an even more dangerous thing; we turn into cynical human beings with no real purpose except to torture others with our dry sense of humour at the expense of everyone else.
I, too, want to believe in God. Many times when I feel extreme hurt and bitter disappointment, I find myself staring into the empty skies at night, and wondering who, if anyone, was watching over us. My sense of hopelessness often reflects the feelings of emptiness as I whisper silent words of hope, and to receive nothing from the other end. Some people call this praying, and yet, even prayer itself manifests itself in many forms. But whether we do it kneeled beside our beds, or on carpets, or with our heads bowed down, aren't we all praying to one same being, this being we call God, to whom we entrust our lives to, hoping for salvation?
If there was one word I could use to describe what I truly wish for, and what I would often pray for, in my very own way, the word would be "happiness". I've been asked many times: "What do you want in life?" "What are you aiming for?" "What do you strive for?" "What are you looking for?"
Simple. The answer is simply "happiness". That was, of course, the easy part. The difficult part is in answering the how's.
In my final year in university studying my first Bachelor degree, I came to the realisation that it was difficult to ignore your true calling, and that your dreams will always find a way to haunt you even when you least expect them to. In my effort to comprehend, and to digest my understanding of my dreams in a better manner, I decided to write them all down. Writing. Dancing. Singing. Performing. Acting. Making people laugh. Making people happy. Helping people. Becoming a lawyer. Speaking in public. Becoming a counselor.
What appeared to be a long list was turned into a simple masterpiece. There were three major dreams in my life, each with a special significance or meaning, and each with equal importance. I couldn't possibly choose one over the other. And although they were personal to me before, nowadays I eagerly share these dreams with others, perhaps hoping that it would serve as a reminder to myself that I am not letting them go just yet, and that there is still hope. And hope, the "maybe one day" hope, is what keeps me going on each day.
My first dream was something I realised to be my calling since birth. Often a misunderstood child, I was fond of being friends with those who appeared to be outcasts, or those who struggled with many issues in life. Somehow, I loved to listen. I somehow understood them; their pain, sorrow, underachievements, sadness, disappointment. So I decided I wanted to help others, and I wanted to make others happy, to right their wrongs. I was 11 when I decided I wanted to be a counselor. As I grew older and made it into the debating team (by chance), I realised I had a knack for public speaking and acquired some oratory skills, and as a result, at the age of 16 with the advice of my debate coach, I decided that I wanted to be a lawyer, to fight for the rights and justice of others. In this dream lies many other "satelite dreams", like one of wanting to serve organisations such as Amnesty International.
But of course, to reach this dream seemed a billion years away. I obtained a CGPA of 3.83 out of 4 in STPM but was refused entry to the UM law school. Instead, 4 years after STPM and 1 year after graduating from UM, I enrolled myself in a private college to read law and am currently in my 1st year. A painful journey, but nonetheless interesting.
My second dream involves writing. I remember how much I enjoyed writing since young, and the silly foolish stories I used to write about. I often contributed to the school magazine, and enjoyed "karangan" or essay-writing immensely. About 7 months ago, I was thrown with a predicament of writing for a publication that did not reflect my personal goals. With the advice of many who said, "You have to start somewhere", I decided to take the job, and ended up being bitter about my writing skills when told by my boss that I couldn't write. I was dejected, and even worse, I died. A part of me died that day, and it took me a lot to reconnect with that part again; for it to be resurrected. I almost heard the signal going *beep* for the longest time before I heard a slight static of myself going back to life again. But I continued writing on my blog (the old blog then) and received many comments and SMSes from many others who said that I should continue writing, that they enjoyed what I wrote.
I have yet to give up, and I believe I will not. I love writing, and I hope to be able to contribute to various publications, and to one day publish a book.
My third dream, alas, is even further away from me than I expected it to be. This was the dream I was basically "born" with, because from the very beginning, even as a timid child, when I was put on stage, I changed. I shone. There is great appeal in being a performer because I want so much to invoke emotions in others. Even being a clown or a stand-up comedian would be wonderful, because if I could make people laugh and forget their sorrows, I could forget my own. Deep, deep beneath this calm exterior of mine, lies a broken soul that will never be healed. I add up the days of sorrow in my life and turn them into entertainment for others. I love making people laugh, because I find redemption for my own sorrow in return.
I remember reading a comic book series when I was much younger called "Topeng Kaca" (Glass Mask). This series was a product of a Japanese artist and translated into the Indonesian language, and my cousin and I eagerly devoured them day after day as a source of entertainment. One of the reasons why I loved this comic book so much was because it told the story of a teenaged girl, Maya, an ordinary looking girl with no special characters or features. An orphan, she has no proper education nor a home. But her one and only talent - acting - brought her to places she never knew existed. And when she was on stage, she could, and had to, ignore her own pains and to truly be the character she is playing. I wanted so badly to be like Maya. But in the real world, I also realised that someone like Maya may never make it. A cruel world this is, and I realised that I did not possess the looks, body, or height or the many other features that many girls do. And to make it worse, I have no real talent. Nothing. Zilch.
I, too, wanted to dance. Enrolled myself in a ballet class at 11, I stopped at 14 when my knees started hurting. Until today, my greatest regret: stopping dancing and giving up on my dream too early in life. I thought of such things too; that I was too short, too stubby, too fat, too ugly to be a ballerina. I thought I had no talent, even when I passed my exams with High Distinction. Nothing was ever good enough for me.
Last week's audition has just proven me right. When I realised I made too many mistakes, I gave up. When I noticed we were all singing the wrong keys, I became frustrated and stopped singing altogether. When I noticed I couldn't stop turning to the left when everyone else was turning to the right, I became frustrated and stopped dancing altogether. In my mind I could only think of one thing, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was, in fact, holding back frustrated tears throughout the entire thing.
Right after it ended, I walked away. I could hear some of them shouting, "Sharon, where are you going?" but I continued walking down the stairs. I cried. I knew I wasn't going to get through but that wasn't the point. The point was that I made a great mistake - a blunder - and I couldn't face it myself. I couldn't face myself. I knew that even if I had gotten through, I will still continue blaming myself, and right now that I didn't get through, I still do.
It hurts to wake up every morning, and in the moments of rubbing my feet and my bruised knees against the comforter in the cool morning air and staring at the ceiling, to constantly ask myself, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Perhaps I have come to the saddest realisation that I will never be happy. I've struggled to find reasons for happiness, but every time I did, I was crushed. I had my share this time around; it lasted a week. ONE WEEK. And then to have my hopes and dreams crushed all over again, that was it for me.
What crushed me this time is actually the matter of time that I am fighting so much against. Not only am I 24 (and a loser with no achievements for that matter), I am pursuing a 2nd degree that will take me another 4 years, and by the time I graduate I will be 28 and only starting out when everyone else has perhaps established a place for themselves in society. And in all honesty, what crushed me about the auditions is that I know I could do so much better, but I didn't. I used to be very good in hearing (I did so well in organ exams), but what happened? I couldn't even judge the notes anymore. I realise that the more I wanted something, the more I would fuck up, and the more it will get away from me. Law of attraction, someone said? What rubbish!
September next year I'll be off to the UK. I have slightly more than a year to do something about my dream of performing. If nothing happens till then, I'm afraid I will have to give up, and see a part of me die. Whether I will survive this death, I'm unsure. Because to have different parts of you die more than once is essentially suicide.
Maybe not physically. But definitely emotionally.
I'm sure there are many reasons people may feel compelled to believe in God, or to have faith in a Higher Being. Faith is a magical thing, truly, because without it, most of us turn into bitter, stoic human beings with no sense of duty towards self and even less duty towards others. Losing faith is an even more dangerous thing; we turn into cynical human beings with no real purpose except to torture others with our dry sense of humour at the expense of everyone else.
I, too, want to believe in God. Many times when I feel extreme hurt and bitter disappointment, I find myself staring into the empty skies at night, and wondering who, if anyone, was watching over us. My sense of hopelessness often reflects the feelings of emptiness as I whisper silent words of hope, and to receive nothing from the other end. Some people call this praying, and yet, even prayer itself manifests itself in many forms. But whether we do it kneeled beside our beds, or on carpets, or with our heads bowed down, aren't we all praying to one same being, this being we call God, to whom we entrust our lives to, hoping for salvation?
If there was one word I could use to describe what I truly wish for, and what I would often pray for, in my very own way, the word would be "happiness". I've been asked many times: "What do you want in life?" "What are you aiming for?" "What do you strive for?" "What are you looking for?"
Simple. The answer is simply "happiness". That was, of course, the easy part. The difficult part is in answering the how's.
In my final year in university studying my first Bachelor degree, I came to the realisation that it was difficult to ignore your true calling, and that your dreams will always find a way to haunt you even when you least expect them to. In my effort to comprehend, and to digest my understanding of my dreams in a better manner, I decided to write them all down. Writing. Dancing. Singing. Performing. Acting. Making people laugh. Making people happy. Helping people. Becoming a lawyer. Speaking in public. Becoming a counselor.
What appeared to be a long list was turned into a simple masterpiece. There were three major dreams in my life, each with a special significance or meaning, and each with equal importance. I couldn't possibly choose one over the other. And although they were personal to me before, nowadays I eagerly share these dreams with others, perhaps hoping that it would serve as a reminder to myself that I am not letting them go just yet, and that there is still hope. And hope, the "maybe one day" hope, is what keeps me going on each day.
My first dream was something I realised to be my calling since birth. Often a misunderstood child, I was fond of being friends with those who appeared to be outcasts, or those who struggled with many issues in life. Somehow, I loved to listen. I somehow understood them; their pain, sorrow, underachievements, sadness, disappointment. So I decided I wanted to help others, and I wanted to make others happy, to right their wrongs. I was 11 when I decided I wanted to be a counselor. As I grew older and made it into the debating team (by chance), I realised I had a knack for public speaking and acquired some oratory skills, and as a result, at the age of 16 with the advice of my debate coach, I decided that I wanted to be a lawyer, to fight for the rights and justice of others. In this dream lies many other "satelite dreams", like one of wanting to serve organisations such as Amnesty International.
But of course, to reach this dream seemed a billion years away. I obtained a CGPA of 3.83 out of 4 in STPM but was refused entry to the UM law school. Instead, 4 years after STPM and 1 year after graduating from UM, I enrolled myself in a private college to read law and am currently in my 1st year. A painful journey, but nonetheless interesting.
My second dream involves writing. I remember how much I enjoyed writing since young, and the silly foolish stories I used to write about. I often contributed to the school magazine, and enjoyed "karangan" or essay-writing immensely. About 7 months ago, I was thrown with a predicament of writing for a publication that did not reflect my personal goals. With the advice of many who said, "You have to start somewhere", I decided to take the job, and ended up being bitter about my writing skills when told by my boss that I couldn't write. I was dejected, and even worse, I died. A part of me died that day, and it took me a lot to reconnect with that part again; for it to be resurrected. I almost heard the signal going *beep* for the longest time before I heard a slight static of myself going back to life again. But I continued writing on my blog (the old blog then) and received many comments and SMSes from many others who said that I should continue writing, that they enjoyed what I wrote.
I have yet to give up, and I believe I will not. I love writing, and I hope to be able to contribute to various publications, and to one day publish a book.
My third dream, alas, is even further away from me than I expected it to be. This was the dream I was basically "born" with, because from the very beginning, even as a timid child, when I was put on stage, I changed. I shone. There is great appeal in being a performer because I want so much to invoke emotions in others. Even being a clown or a stand-up comedian would be wonderful, because if I could make people laugh and forget their sorrows, I could forget my own. Deep, deep beneath this calm exterior of mine, lies a broken soul that will never be healed. I add up the days of sorrow in my life and turn them into entertainment for others. I love making people laugh, because I find redemption for my own sorrow in return.
I remember reading a comic book series when I was much younger called "Topeng Kaca" (Glass Mask). This series was a product of a Japanese artist and translated into the Indonesian language, and my cousin and I eagerly devoured them day after day as a source of entertainment. One of the reasons why I loved this comic book so much was because it told the story of a teenaged girl, Maya, an ordinary looking girl with no special characters or features. An orphan, she has no proper education nor a home. But her one and only talent - acting - brought her to places she never knew existed. And when she was on stage, she could, and had to, ignore her own pains and to truly be the character she is playing. I wanted so badly to be like Maya. But in the real world, I also realised that someone like Maya may never make it. A cruel world this is, and I realised that I did not possess the looks, body, or height or the many other features that many girls do. And to make it worse, I have no real talent. Nothing. Zilch.
I, too, wanted to dance. Enrolled myself in a ballet class at 11, I stopped at 14 when my knees started hurting. Until today, my greatest regret: stopping dancing and giving up on my dream too early in life. I thought of such things too; that I was too short, too stubby, too fat, too ugly to be a ballerina. I thought I had no talent, even when I passed my exams with High Distinction. Nothing was ever good enough for me.
Last week's audition has just proven me right. When I realised I made too many mistakes, I gave up. When I noticed we were all singing the wrong keys, I became frustrated and stopped singing altogether. When I noticed I couldn't stop turning to the left when everyone else was turning to the right, I became frustrated and stopped dancing altogether. In my mind I could only think of one thing, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was, in fact, holding back frustrated tears throughout the entire thing.
Right after it ended, I walked away. I could hear some of them shouting, "Sharon, where are you going?" but I continued walking down the stairs. I cried. I knew I wasn't going to get through but that wasn't the point. The point was that I made a great mistake - a blunder - and I couldn't face it myself. I couldn't face myself. I knew that even if I had gotten through, I will still continue blaming myself, and right now that I didn't get through, I still do.
It hurts to wake up every morning, and in the moments of rubbing my feet and my bruised knees against the comforter in the cool morning air and staring at the ceiling, to constantly ask myself, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Perhaps I have come to the saddest realisation that I will never be happy. I've struggled to find reasons for happiness, but every time I did, I was crushed. I had my share this time around; it lasted a week. ONE WEEK. And then to have my hopes and dreams crushed all over again, that was it for me.
What crushed me this time is actually the matter of time that I am fighting so much against. Not only am I 24 (and a loser with no achievements for that matter), I am pursuing a 2nd degree that will take me another 4 years, and by the time I graduate I will be 28 and only starting out when everyone else has perhaps established a place for themselves in society. And in all honesty, what crushed me about the auditions is that I know I could do so much better, but I didn't. I used to be very good in hearing (I did so well in organ exams), but what happened? I couldn't even judge the notes anymore. I realise that the more I wanted something, the more I would fuck up, and the more it will get away from me. Law of attraction, someone said? What rubbish!
September next year I'll be off to the UK. I have slightly more than a year to do something about my dream of performing. If nothing happens till then, I'm afraid I will have to give up, and see a part of me die. Whether I will survive this death, I'm unsure. Because to have different parts of you die more than once is essentially suicide.
Maybe not physically. But definitely emotionally.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
To Begin At The Beginning...
Dear reader(s),
If you somehow found your way here, I believe you must have been well-informed of the moving of my blog to this current URL. To those of you not in the know, I've decided to move my random rants to this blog from now on. I've decided to make a new home for my journal to secure my thoughts with greater peace of mind.
As some of you may have known, for very personal reasons, I am unable to continue usage of my old blog, but if you'd like to have a peep at it, just let me know who you are and I'll send you an invite, provided it's safe, of course.
P/s: To you, if you happen to find your way here and are reading this, I hope you understand that I am not trying to run away from you. But we both know very well that it's for the best; that we do not keep in contact with one another. I hope you will respect my privacy and accept that I deserve the right to move on from a dark spot of my life, and I deserve every right to obtain happiness as well. In my search for that happiness, I think having you around will not do any of us any good.
If you somehow found your way here, I believe you must have been well-informed of the moving of my blog to this current URL. To those of you not in the know, I've decided to move my random rants to this blog from now on. I've decided to make a new home for my journal to secure my thoughts with greater peace of mind.
As some of you may have known, for very personal reasons, I am unable to continue usage of my old blog, but if you'd like to have a peep at it, just let me know who you are and I'll send you an invite, provided it's safe, of course.
P/s: To you, if you happen to find your way here and are reading this, I hope you understand that I am not trying to run away from you. But we both know very well that it's for the best; that we do not keep in contact with one another. I hope you will respect my privacy and accept that I deserve the right to move on from a dark spot of my life, and I deserve every right to obtain happiness as well. In my search for that happiness, I think having you around will not do any of us any good.
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