Sunday, August 20, 2017

Sitting on a hammock

And so, why do we hurt the people we love?

This thing called 'love', I've thought about it for years and years and years. With regards to family love, why does it come with so many things? Things they want to give, things they want to take. Do parents ever see their children as human beings? Or just 'my child', like an object?

I have frequently regretted the fact that I was born. I don't see why anyone, if they thought about it, would decide to bring a life into this world. Why would you put them through that? For your own self-satisfaction? For someone to take care of you in your retirement?

I don't think I'm a terrible child. Yes, I am a bad child. But I no longer want to think of myself as 'someone's child'. As we grow older we become able to draw strength and identity from broader reaches of life. From work, hobbies, friends. Are you angry that I'm not who you wanted me to be? I'm sad, but I am not going to change.

My mom says I'm stubborn and fighting in order to be right.

Look, if you ask me if I was right or wrong, I'm not sure what to say. Doesn't it depend on who tells the story? It's neither here nor there. But I am not going to live in this house a moment longer than I must. There have been three times in my life when something inside me has snapped, and this is one of them.



I used to think, if I don't get into medicine then I'll have to shoot myself, because there's nothing else I can think of that I want to do, that is acceptable or successful.

I was terrified to admit there were other things I wanted to do. I thought that if I said it or thought it I would become a loser. Only losers do these things; you say you want it? And you want it not in the way you want sweets, but the way you want a dog—you want it as naturally as you breathe, you want it from the place your heart beats. You want it without hesitation. That just makes it worse. There really is something wrong with you.

And so my journey thus far hasn't been about traipsing through the wilds trying to find the red fruit; it's been about sitting on a hammock and trying to admit that the red fruit exists, it's hanging right there and...that it's okay to admit it exists.

Now I can say 'this is what I want' not through a revelation, but through some mental gymnastics that also leave me a few cents worth of self-esteem. I just need enough to survive. I just need enough to see how this goes, see it through some ups and downs.



With regards to Seneca's quote, well. Life sucks, I won't lie. There are great and good parts, but it's still a laughable farce. Yet if I know that terribleness is the baseline, then I can choose to cry about everything, everyday—or I can actively choose to smile. Not as an act of heroism or courage (that would be irritating) but because

there is a choice between crying about it and smiling despite it. And I've cried about it before. I know how it feels to live that way. I've smiled despite it before, and I know how that feels too. I just want to choose the better way.

Besides, best not to get stuck in the self-pity rut. It's important to keep moving forwards, I've been told, and I think it's right. Just like many things, it takes me some time.

Friday, August 18, 2017

If writing is magic, then what is medicine?


"Writing is magic", then maybe "Medicine is life"? 


Is that how it is then? One magic, the other life, and we're always going to have to choose between the two. But that's not quite right, because we should always choose life, right, because magic doesn't exist. 

It's too easy to believe that.



I understand that people can be cruel, not for the sake of it, but because they think they have a right to it. Because moral differences or ethical missteps or some such. Hence the other person deserves it, and they have a right to it.

But do people ever deserve to be treated poorly, though? When they make mistakes, when they don't believe in the things everyone ought to—the things that are obviously right—and therefore they are unworthy, lesser beings, incapable, or plain bad? Like an apple you want to throw in the bin.

Maybe they do. I don't know. What I do know is that however we're treated, we have the ability to decide for ourselves what we're worth and our value.


"What need is there to weep over parts of life? The whole of it calls for tears."
—Seneca

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Once a month I question the meaning of life, get irritated at the drop of a hat, and feel pretty despondent. At least I think it's once a month.


I remember when my grandfather was dying and my mom was speeding to the hospital. Someone honked us and she rolled down the window and screamed, "My father is dying!!"

I thought, just because something terrible is happening in our lives doesn't make it okay for us to do whatever we want and be unnecessarily confrontational/rude. Because there is always something happening in everyone's life.

But it also doesn't change the fact that we do it anyway. 'I've had a terrible day, so I can snap at my family when I come home.' Or, 'I've just been fired from work, so I can snarl at the cashier.' 'My exams are coming, so I can get mad when I don't get the things I want—aren't I supposed to be in top condition for the paper?'

We do it all the time. When my mom was speeding and shouting at strangers I was seriously scared and I thought,

terrible things are happening but it doesn't make it alright for you to act this way.

are someone's last moments really more important than the fifty years you spent with him?



I know I can be cold and uncaring. I'm not proud of it but it's how I deal with things.

I guess it's true that we all need to cut each other a bit of slack. Because shit happens and we all deal with it in pretty dysfunctional ways.

But maybe, since we have some years ahead of us, maybe we can learn to deal with it differently. A bit at a time. Because sometimes I look at my parents and I really, fervently wish that I will not end up like that. That I won't have those reactions and immaturity. That I won't stand at the end of fifty years and act as if I've only been around for three.



Well thank god for music.


Sunday, August 6, 2017

I've been waiting for life to happen. Still am, I suppose.

I keep forgetting that 'life' has already happened—is happening—and the rivers of time flow freely on. 


It's not that I believed the clock had stopped (how could I? The clock ticks drearily on) but I did think this was a dream-clock, or a temporary clock whose ticking didn't really matter. So what if it goes on? Every day repeats itself, every emotion and thought comes full circle, and...

It's not that routine and predictability are bad. It's not that boredom is bad, or even unusual in this place and time. 

It's also not that I kept asking myself: "Is this all there is to life?" Because many days are hard and tiring and I wish it wasn't so. 


So where did this idea, this thought of "when will my life begin" come from? Don't tell me Mulan. Please don't tell me Mulan. 

Maybe it's from the idea I've been holding since I entered school and learned about exams. Thinking, once this hurdle is over, life will begin. I thought that in primary school every year. And then after all major exams. Once in university I realized I needed to slug out another five years before—finally—life could begin. 

Now that I'm nearing the end of those five years, it seems blatantly obvious that this mindset can follow you for your whole life. 

Will life begin once I graduate?—No, not yet. 

How about once I get a specialty?—No, and besides, there are exams every year. 

How about once I get married? Once I get a dog? (Maybe!) Once I have kids? 

Or once I get a house? 

Will it finally begin when I'm about to die?


I read once that if we don't choose what we want for our lives, then the world will choose for us. And what the world chooses has no consideration for what we want.

Recently I've been haunted by what the world wants to choose for me.

Or what the world has chosen for me.

Or about the definition of 'too late'. 

Saturday, August 5, 2017

Rampage

I know that I've been going on a rampage lately.


In the past I probably wasn't a better person; I just didn't have any thoughts at all. Thinking back, when I related my stories and people made sounds of outrage, only then would it (belatedly) occur to me that there was something to be mad about. Or something to feel anything about.

So maybe now I'm just further exploring the realm of 'feeling'—that is, feeling unpleasant things.



I'm sure if I sat down and had a long look in myself, I'd come up with the reason why I'm so irritable lately. Why little things set me off and why I'm on another rampage to throw things out the house (am I the only one who hates living surrounded by junk?)

But in a twisted and relatable way, being angry just feels so good.

Better than feeling enlightened.

Better than feeling sorry.

Being angry makes me feel right. 



Also,

I do know that these are the words of a doomed fool.

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Bruises

I sometimes don't get it.

Why everybody gotta be so serious?


And also,

I didn't realise how much it hurt me.

So our parents can say things that hurt a lot.

But you know,

words have power

And unless you want something to come true,

Please don't say it.



But do you, in some corner of your heart, want it to come true?

Because if people can say "I want happiness" but act contradictorily, it's because there are things within them—fears, beliefs, desires—that they themselves haven't come to terms with, but which act on their lives nevertheless.

So if you can say something like that, do you believe it? Or do you want it to come true?

I mean, it's not like I don't know every human being has bits of evil and nastiness in them.


I suppose what should matter to me is:
- When I get my own house
- When I get a dog
- Who I wanna be


Ed Sheeran - what do I know

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

The role of makeup today..

... Because it changes everyday.

Today I painted my lips with anger. I guess sometimes I draw my brows with courage. And some days I touch my cheek with wishes.

On some days, makeup is a sign of respect.

On other days, it's because I'm not happy with my skin.

And some days I don't wear it at all! Cause lazy, good skin, and well...