I have to make my way towards one of these. by hook or by crook. now that i’m in US i really don’t have excuses to make : )

sigh i have a uber crush on him. it’s not even funny

Edit: Am mouthing his songs in the library. Passers-by gives weird looks.

Living for yourself solely – this selfish act, has just struck me as something very daunting and impossible. I was walking out of the dining hall, joel had just left to go do his studies, and I remember the feeling I got was: What now? When your relationships, friends, family, school are out of the picture. What do you do? See, I guess it’s easy to complain that you’re living for someone else when you were doing exactly that, but now when I have the chance, when I’m supposed to do all these things for myself, I’m just as easily lost and discontented as before. 

I have to stop relying on anything else other than myself to feel full. Right.

Today, I vow to start being less calculative. In appearance and in mind. I used to harbor all sorts of shit in my brain and retaliate it slowly and subtly afterwards, but I think that has got to stop. I quote Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra:

The mind becomes clear and serene when the qualities of the heart are cultivated:
friendliness toward the joyful,
compassion toward the suffering,
happiness toward the pure,
and impartiality toward the impure.

 Accept people for who they are. Or, just leave.

Life is so meaningless unless you find something that makes you happy to do. Otherwise everything feels just the same. Mundane. Insignificant. Shrunken to daily litanies just not worth mentioning. And it goes on and on until you merge and become exactly that which you detest.

Where do I go now? I’ll dance, I’ll make myself write (discipline), I’ll dress up everyday! Something needs to change badly before I just continue to drown and drown

Today, on a brown table with briyani and meehoon goreng between us, I told him something that has bothered me for a long time, and produced the shock and disbelief and dread that I knew would have came. I gave up my ‘writer’s block’ front and out came the burst of confession. maybe i don’t want to be a writer.

Streaming tears down my face, him trying to help me out, help me out, him warning, him advising – how many times have we been in this scenario? Where I pointedly ignore the stares from the tables around us, the waiters’ awkward shuffle, the choice between leaving the tears and clumsily blowing my nose, where I fight the obstinate voice that disagrees within my head whilst trying to listen to a genuine voice – it’s like the palliative substitute to the real cure, where the talks spur me on, inspire me, and gives me hope that i’m not incurable, perhaps I can do this.

I’ve lapped up all the talks before this. On daring to be different. on art. on learning thinking doing. on complacency. on dreams and passion. on just trying. But those talks are abruptly summed up in a few words today, while one slumped on the wall and the other on the toilet seat, that they served not their purpose. he doesn’t know how to help me.

In front of a toilet seat today, I tried to tell a man that i’m his fault. my keyword is the ubiquitous ‘maybe’ i’ve used throughout break-ups and bad grades, families and friends, and the many conversations held with myself. The Maybe that explains the little aspects of my life everytime i have a tiff with my ideal. like, maybe if you have said this to him, you wouldn’t be here right now. maybe when i get there, i will be different. maybe i can explain this as an inspirational block. maybe i can write a book because i love to read. maybe it’s their fault, because i wasn’t like this.

A few weeks before I told him that maybe i should concentrate on myself and not him, I thought to myself: ‘maybe you’re just using him as an excuse’, and at that time, decided i shouldn’t talk to him about what i thought, because maybe i was right.

Today, someone saw through me trying to escape again from a bind that i couldn’t- wouldn’t untie. the me who looks for catalysts and never ended the search because the muse supposedly never came after so many of them, the me who always thinks that maybe something will happen when i step out of a talk. and with that maybe, believed that something has, and stopped moving whilst the people around me marched forward, till i finally realise that i’m left behind again. the whole process is like watching a washing machine rinse and repeat the sequence it takes to clean the clothes, except I never seem to become fresh out of the wash.

He held me after my exposé, insisting that i turn around so that he could see me, and asked me for my plan. I answered him and he said, ‘after that?’ and i replied, disregarding my own imaginations of a perfect answer, that i’ll have to see what happens after that.

No more maybes.

I promise when i work the part-time job and get my first hard-earned pay, i will buy something for my parents and treat joel to food. Vowing it here would give credence to it (and i can’t back out haha). My dad’s gonna buy me a laptop, a computer (for the house, but i’m the one who’s gonna exploit it fully), possibly a phone, and my university education – unless i get a scholarship in the US which i will definitely look for. So, although a meal is nothing. At least i have reason enough to start earning my keep for the leech i’ve been/am.