That sadness carves you empty 

Inside out, leaving only a shell 

That way nobody can see 

Then you are sad and also alone.

What will come, will come.
What will go, will go.

There is nothing we can do to stop them.

If we try, that balance is disrupted and harm will come our way to balance what we took, unentitled.

Private sadness

There is an emotion
tears cannot express-
voice empty, your heart beats madly

There is a grief
tears do not understand -
you want to use words but choke instead

There is a death
tears do not feel-
you mourn silently as it goes out

There is a silence
tears cannot break-
you feel everything but those tears

A sort of private poison,

***

Tears stained with their laughter,
victory and your defeat
He tells you, "Don't cry," but
why is that warmth and
that wetness, such relief?

Their gay voices dancing
in your head, round a bonfire
singing their tales of you
"Don't listen to them," he says,
when they sing the truth.

Sometimes I wonder:
what do they gain
by tearing you apart?
What do you gain
by tearing you apart?

You can defeat them but
each dawn, in equal proportion
hope and despair comes.
In life, there are no limits
and pain is no exception.

Sometimes when people speak to me, I hear what they don't say and it hurts me.

I hear the things they don't say and these things frighten me because there are people who would throw you under a bus for very little benefit to themselves.

They scare me because people are evil.

If you harbour hatred, resentment and bitterness in your heart, life will become a story of pain.

So this morning I was talking to my mom about the importance of mental health.

The point I wanted to put across was that if your mental health suffers, the people around you do too, so mental health is not a 'private' or 'personal' thing as traditional thinking would have you believe.

I recounted an instance when she abused me when I was very young. She has no recollection of the incident and accused me of making things up.

I could be upset, but I understood why she forgot.

Because at that time, she wasn't abusing me. She was just running from her demons.

It was something so instinctively connected to how she felt (anger), she only recalled the emotion but not the action.

Well, she got really upset and started yelling. I told her there was no need to get upset because I was only making a point about how mental health affects others more than you can imagine.

Then she told me she was ashamed.

It's only 9.30am. This is too much shit for 9.30am. I'm going back to sleep.

I think today's motto will be: I could be upset, but I won't.

Or: I could post this on Facebook, but I'm not looking for that kind of attention.

I dyed my hair (dark) pink again!

I forgot I had a blog!

Oops!

I have been told that I possess a quality known as humour.

I have been further informed that said humour is of the dry variety.

My question, naturally, is this - wtf is wet humour????

***

Ok no, that was not actually my question. 

I want to know where funny people get their humor from, how their brains work to make them so funny.

I don't think I am funny myself. I live in constant fear of people not getting my snarky references, that is the extent of it.

Being humorous requires a certain degree of creativity and lightning sharp neurological reflexes.

It fascinates me how some people can tell jokes that absolutely floor me. I really admire funny people!

***

I was not a person who was interested in telling jokes when I was younger. Not until I met J and loved her for her hilarious antics. 

Everybody loved her. I idolized her so much I began copying her sense of humor because I was such a loser with no identity back then huhuhu.

Once that started it never stopped. I did get better at it over the years, but sometimes when I say certain things a certain way I get reminded of J. 

"J probably would say this. It would be hilarious. I wonder if she's still as funny and cool now."

So even today, you are just witnessing my J impersonation. 

Which is okay, we are allowed to try to emulate our idols, right? 

Even though J later turned into that bully I always talk about, I still really admire her sense of humor.

So if you asked me where my humor came from, I'd tell you that sometimes I think, "What will J say in this situation?"

She's part of my identity.

Are we all made out of parts of everyone we meet in our lives? Or is it just me because I am a losercopycat?

A problem with me:

People mean too little to me and I bore of them easily.

The effect of meaning too little myself for too long.

But how do you tell someone you've grown tired of them because they just aren't interesting?

That's rude.

Blog revamp!

Haha just because.

I like pink.

It was definitely a pink day.

Today I bought a perfume because of the way it made me feel.

Perfumes have always been, to me, liquid moods you can envelope yourself in. I am a very, very olfactory person and I attach memories to scents and I remember people by the way their skin smells

Checking out Valentina Pink was a strange experience. 

I sprayed it on and took a whiff - instantly I was transported back in time, but to a memory I cannot remember.

My chest immediately constricted and my heart began beating wildly, wanting to escape my chest from the sheer emotion I was suddenly induced to recall - but with no particular memory attached.

It has been an hour since and try as I might I believe the memory was too long ago and too deeply buried but I did know with clarity that Valentina Pink reminded me of something. Something so, so long ago I don't remember anymore. An impression. A mood. An emotion.

Suddenly I have forgotten the present me - suddenly I have lost count of my years and experience and I am right there, somewhere in my childhood, feeling that pure, innocent emotion i once felt. That emotion made my heart palpitate wildly for some reason.

Whatever memory it was, I was excited and happy in it. Then again back in those days as a child I was always excited and happy. It was nice to be brought back in time and forget who I have become for a while.

It has been an hour since, though. I wish my heart would stop trying to jump out of my chest. 

--

Update: I have figured out what the memory is.

I was seven. I was at Sanrio Puroland in Japan with my parents and aunt and late granny.

I was happy.

I think the scent wasn't replicated anywhere in my memory but the way it set into my skin and began to dance was characteristic of how i constructed my memory of Tokyo as a seven year old: foreign, delicate, exciting, pink.

Being honest requires courage.

Nowadays people say a few swear words, behave rudely and call themselves 'real'.

It is much easier to tell lies, both to other people and to yourself.

Telling yourself the truth about your own flaws and mistakes is the hardest.

Today someone called me a spoiled brat, right after I said that I hated spoilt brats.

That may classify as the most offensive thing to say to me ever.

Besides bugging me a little bit, I wasn't as hurt as I thought I would be, even if it came from someone close.

I'm still trying to place this strange un-offended melancholy I am feeling in the place of anger or hurt.

Maybe it is still a kind of hurt. But it's a new kind of hurt and it is kind of fascinating.

Many things are chosen
to be wanted by
many people.

Disguised dreams
labelled as passion
protecting our greed

chasing things to
complete us
that missing piece

from a hole we carved
a little more, a lot more
another day, another week

mom isn't here to tell
if what we've chose
is good anymore

-Michael Faudet

So elegant.

there is an ache
in my chest and
I want to cry it away
in yours but

I could cry a river
you would build a boat
and sail away

I could build a bridge
over the river but
you'd set it alight

your shadow waning
taking my body
and leaving me with
an ache in my chest

Cry me a river
build a bridge and
get over it

It's water under the bridge
which I burnt along with
the troll that lives underneath

Loving requires courage
to be loved, the same.
We fight to hold on
and fight to let go.

Hanging, unable to escape
the trap of others and
the trap of our hearts;
an ugly, twisted love

without courage becomes
greed and consumption
ravelling around your neck
comfortably; trapped

you break free but
(snap) too late -
you can't fix it so
you carry on dying.

Dude: how are you doing? Still modeling?

Me: When I met you I had already quit for a long time. I don't know why you would be asking that.

It's so easy to categorise me by how I look and that really bothers me.

Reminds me of the guy who called me a "CBD girl", defining me by location and gender, literally.

I think I find it offensive because I categorize people like this:

A) Kind

B) Unkind

But maybe that does not make me any less judgemental than they. 

We all sin in different ways.

PS: how and why is it so difficult to just say, "you're gorgeous as usual"? 

It carries the same meaning, but feels more honest and sincere. But instead, we hide behind veiled questions and excuses and pervert the sentiment.

But the question I really want to know is: why am I so offended???

This is pissing me off!!

This is my favourite top.

Somebody said I looked 16.

Have a toothache!

I am very scared of people making fun of me and calling me an attention seeker so I will only post pictures on my personal blog from now on.

I shouldn't be bothered by what they say, but perhaps they speak the truth and that is why they annoy me.

PS: How old do I look?

The sound of
hollow words resonating
in my head filling it
with echoes

Just like how you
used to fill
my body with
your presence

They say empty vessels
make the most noise
perhaps that's why
I complain and
you lie.

To be able to love
so much is
to be able to hurt
so much and

After all, Poetry
is an echo
asking a shadow
to dance.

If one day life told you that you were worth only half of what you thought you were, which would you blame: your circumstance, or your ego?

Would you then become half the person you once were?

***

If life took away your dreams and told you you weren't worthy of them, would you become incapable of having those dreams again?

What would you do if life told you all these and you had no way to disagree?

Would you try and run away? Distract yourself? Destroy yourself? Change yourself?

Hilarious nerd depression

So I was damn depressed and unable to function except cry in bed.

Him: Don't be sad. Think about all the books you've yet to read.
Me: Holy shit yeah that's my life purpose nothing else is as important to me I am not depressed anymore.

Legit happened.

Such are my priorities.

We search and
search for someone
who is a little less selfish
to us and then
freak out and fall in love.

Of mice, men and book thieves.

I remember I stole Of Mice And Men.

I was in JC at the time, and the wonderful book was left so neglected, rotting, collecting dust in a tiny classroom library in the high school section classroom.

It was a beautiful, big school and sometimes being late for class was only because the damn classroom was half a kilo away, or you got lost, even a year in. Or maybe that's just me because I am not very good at integrating into this whole world in general.

So the book, being part of some small private classroom library was unmarked and I highly doubted it had ever been seriously read (the spine was intact, and this is not a thin book). I don't steal stuff generally, but I have a special spot of moral ambiguity reserved for books and only books, especially when they're old and neglected.

I don't think anyone would miss a book they neglected, even if it got stolen.

And anyway these boys were reading Depression Economics by Paul freaking Krugman everywhere I went so I doubt they would appreciate a book about the aftermath of the Great Depression (I find this highly ironic, btw), only because that depression was obscenely outdated by 2010. And also, Of Mice And Men wasn't about whatever Paul Krugman was peddling.

It didn't even take effort. I took the book, put it in my bag and left after we were all done with the classroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. To me indeed it was - giving well written books the respect they deserve.

When you steal a book, do you only steal an object? It felt like I stole an idea, emotions and beauty - something everyone should be able to enjoy. I remember I got $140 a month as allowance a month in those days, and once I got it I would go blow like $50 on new books at Kino every month.

Don't tell my mom.

I wrote this entry to talk about how I felt reading the first twenty pages of Steinbeck's book. (As usual I got horribly sidetracked, I apologise) I never had time to finish the whole book, and I am making a note now to remember to do so.

A lot of books are written and published daily now. It has become a business of selling the best stories and most fashionable ideas. I admit myself that I have always wanted to write a novel or something but I lack the skill and commitment; but mostly because I never feel ready to use my pen in such a public way. Writing is my most valued skill and I would find it shameful if someone said something like this, "The story is ok, but the writing is mediocre."

I think that is a problem with most of the novels written today. They are written to tell a story - they are effectively, storybooks. I don't have anything against them, but thinking back to me experience of Twenty Pages of Steinbeck, (or any Dickens experience) I can't help but feel that the mindset of authors today and of the past are very different.

I was completely exhausted and overwhelmed after reading barely the intro to Of Mice and Men. The vivid, deep description of every single thing in the scene gripped my and refused to let go - that metaphorical dull, dusty hot breeze blew from the pages into my face and I swear I could feel the aftermath of the Depression - that drawl, uncertain, boring atmosphere.

It was like even that dusty sky and dry, red earth had emotion and that emotion infected me deeply. I had felt so much despair and suffocation from those pages I had to stop reading.

Actually I haven't finished and I don't know what the book is really about lol. Also, I am recounting from memory what I read close to five years ago, kindly excuse any inaccuracies as right now I don't have the book with me personally.

I think writing itself is an experience and should be disciplined and enjoyed in equal parts. Modern books sell stories and ideas but not -writing- because nobody is interested to read about lengthy descriptions of things anymore. Generally quiet, patient beauty doesn't hold charm like instantaneous gratification in this generation of instant gratification and smartphones.

I would like to learn to write with skill and discipline instead of only writing a story and selling ideas.  But as a result I only end up writing weird scenes with no backstory or reason. I only describe the place, the emotion and I lose interest.

Here's a typical sampler (written when I was 16, please have mercy) : https://www.fictionpress.com/s/2569550/1/Rail

I think it goes without saying that I love The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak very much. I was on a school trip in the UK that year (2007?) and I bought it for 8 pounds before it came out in Singapore!

At the time the rate for Pounds Sterling was really high, haha.

Trying to study, but procrastination always wins....

Zettai angle~! 

I try to take pictures from different angles and use different pictures because I'm quite bored of looking the same every picture too lol.

But this angle never fails me!

While I kept my makeup simple, I worked very hard to blow dry my hair~

So today we talked about people who have everything going for them but are still jealous of other people.

We still have not reached a conclusion.

A-Game today. 

Sometimes you're so hurt you can never look at that person the same way anymore, right?

Sometimes you're so hurt you can't even look at the world the same way anymore.

"Emptiness is not the result of nothingness, but when nothing you put in it will fit. There is a great space that we try to fill with happiness, with success, with money. But nothing will fit."

Actually...

I live in the past a lot because I am constantly milking it for new lessons.

"I will become strong and beautiful so that I will never have to be the one falling in love."

-Something I told myself when I was 22.

“It’s dark.
You exhale a fist of memory.
I love you like weathering wood
in a room of empty pianos.

When you return to something you love,
it’s already beyond repair.
You wear it broken.”

— James L. White

"People are not chasing qualifications blindly, it is the employers who are blindly chasing people with qualifications instead."

Being a model was hard because -

Photographer: Do nude shoot w me.
Me: No.
Photographer: Do lingerie shoot w me.
Me: No.
Photographer: You're ugly.

Well anyway, I really do want to try and become a gentler and less cynical person.

But regarding the inappropriate humour.. It may be a bit difficult.

I laugh at my own jokes and I think I'm hilarious. I want to entertain myself!

Every time I deal with people something is sure to blow up.

After all this I can say with confidence that the problem is me. Maybe I hold people to standards which are too high. Maybe I am rude and have a short temper.

I am really working hard on those two points. But even if I succeed, I don't think I could ever get used to people.

I ate some ramen today and the guy gave me a free plate of gyoza and asked me to come again.

I was so embarrassed and so shy! And he kept coming (like 3 times) to my table and talking to me while I was stuffing my face w ramen and I had to cover my mouth for the entire time I was thanking him.

I had no makeup on and I was only in slippers! I couldn't figure out if he talked to me because he thought I was cute or because he really wanted customers?

Without makeup, I have no confidence in interacting the opposite sex at all. Usually I am 100X more shy too, because I don't have my 'bargaining chips' on hand. I hardly talk or crack jokes or interact with anyone; I just want to be invisible.

It's not exactly a self-image issue because I don't feel bad about the way I look... I am just not used to talking to people without my full playing deck. I am quite sure without makeup I look like any normal human. Not that I'm self conscious, but I don't really expect to be given free gyoza or chatted up with my nerd glasses on and my pimples unconcealed. My hair was still wet rom the shower, too...

I think it has to do with my job as a hostess when I was younger? It was my first job and I was pretty good at it. Unfortunately it formed the foundation of how I viewed the world, how I viewed adults and how I viewed people.

I think I could write a pretty interesting blog about my experiences as a part time model/hostess if I could stop myself from navel-gazing or complaining for ten minutes. Haha!

But according to these girls who bullied me in school, I can't claim to be a model because of a myriad of unflattering reasons and condescending laughter. I just want to clear the air : I worked a model not because I wanted to 'one-up' their queen bee (who was also a model and apparently 1000X bigger than I will ever be), or to claim that I am hot.

I think I already established above that I really look like a plain, normal person without my face paint and I am really fine with that. But of course these girls want to make me sound as desperate and ugly as possible so nothing I say will stand. I can give you a list of people who will not hesitate at all to tell the world I am hideously ugly... and it is a long list.

Anyway, I 'claim to be a model' because I worked as one... and I worked as one because the pay was good and I needed to pay rent and feed myself. It wasn't a thing I did to make my ego feel good or prove to the world I got lucky in the genetic lottery. I had bills and I needed to eat. And trust me, nothing is glamorous when you're clamouring to pay rent every month.

Enough of talking about bullies.. I get really sidetracked because they really hurt me. (I still hear the echoes of the things they said about me and my mind conjures up what I would imagine them to say. It's pathetic, but I don't know how to stop it.)

Working as a hostess... I said I'd talk about it right? (A/N: writing too colloquially again... I must stop soon) Pretty much when you're working in nightlife, the one who looks the best is queen. And the one who can spend the most is king. This is a basic principle of the world when the sun goes down.

I remember I would spend up to 3 hours prepping myself before I went to work! Makeup, hair, nails and the full set. I was actually pretty popular (?) at one point and people said I was very pretty. I can't remember how much eyeliner I went through but uh, panda is an appropriate comparison.

I found a very old picture of my makeup then! (I don't really think it looks good now...)

But under the strobe lights, overdone makeup means your features are visible; it's like stage makeup of sorts?

Even now, when I don't wear makeup, I feel like I am "off duty" and I don't feel obligated to be anyone's eye candy. If I wanted attention I know how to get it, and when I dress down it means I don't want any.

Anyways, the kind of attention you get just because you pushed up your boobs and put on makeup is really boring. Usually these people can't even hold a decent conversation. In no way do I find it flattering. (I would probably cream my panties if anyone played the Capitals game with me or quoted any literary work.)

Maybe that is why I am bad at dealing with people? I started interacting in the world at the last place I should have started and I cannot deny it has made me intensely cynical (and somewhat manipulative). I can't and don't know how to keep friends or relationships because I see people as just others who want something from me.

I don't think I am wrong about that.


***

As a ending note... I know that models and hostesses party very hard and sleep with a lot of people. In my defence, when I was in the industry, I didn't have such relations with anyone other than the boy/girlfriend I had at the time. The reason was because I was too afraid of the people I met in nightlife.

I'd like to say I had moral reasons etc. but really, I was just too scared and obsessed about paying rent to bother about these things.

Well, actually if you wanted an even more convincing reason, one of the managers in the bars forced himself on me sexually and after that I went lesbian for a while and could only sleep with my girlfriend. I was terrified of and hated men. (I am pretty damn sure I still do, lol)

I don't know, if there are still people who want to call me a slut (I am sure there is still a long list) go ahead, but I would suggest for them to find something else to occupy their time with. Saying bad things about people speaks more of you than of the person you try to smear.

I like talking about sex and making jokes about it, but I'm too shy to go screw random people lol.

About clubbing... I think we all know I don't like clubbing? It's not something I am proud of because it's not like I think clubbing is a vice or a sin.. It's just that a disturbing amount of people think I do and I have no idea why.

I leave my house like.. twice a week. Once to get groceries, once to visit my parents.

And no, groceries isn't some euphemism for cock.

Lol.

"We get naked but I can't undress your heart."

What if I hate the person I've become

Yet I can't change who I am?

"why don't you date good looking people?"

"Good looking people are mean."

Right now. Over and over.

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People would care if you failed.

But people wouldn't care if you died.

Once upon a time I met a man who was very nice to me.

I fell for him and opened myself up and allowed myself to become dependent on him.

Very soon, he showed me why that was a bad idea.

It's not surprising because I've come to expect that from humans.

But because I loved him so much, a part of my heart died along with my belief in love.

He taught me that even if you love each other things can and will fuck up.

Nobody will love you more than they love themselves.

Do I want attention? Not particularly.

I just really enjoy my boobs.

If you were to ask me why I enjoy posting offensive content, I probably couldn't give you a straight answer.

Is it because I am rebellious? Perhaps it has become a habit stemming from my teens. But it's not like I have a problem with authority at this age....

I'm just... Very good at doing what I'm told not to do. 

That's not very good is it? I do try to be a proper adult (sometimes). 

But you know what I think? 

I think many of these 'proper' people out there do terrible things in the dark and their proper facades are to cover that. They behave so immaculate but their hearts are trash.

Maybe in a small way I don't put up a proper face because I want to tell people that I have nothing to hide or play pretend about.

This is my shadow face.

Well actually, these are my boobs.

Oh one thing I realised:

Being away from Facebook means I CAN post adult content and offensive things.

I am going to enjoy this so much.

Yea seriously don't.

I probably could, but I don't wanna.

Some things that people really really like, but I really really dislike:

1. Life of Pi

2. Haruki Murakami

3. Durarara

We are all passersby in each others' lives.

We say hello today and goodbye tomorrow.

So, I've decided to quit Facebook.

It was interesting, but dealing with people just isn't for me. 

I'll keep the profile active in case I want to contact anyone, seeing as I don't have ways to contact many people I am acquainted with.

I think it's healthier for me to just be alone with my thoughts, so I've decided to use this blog for my expressive needs. 

I'll be blogging on mobile too so expect short posts and pictures.

Blogging for attention.

There are many things I seem to understand only for a fleeting moment.

There are many things I understand but do not know how to express.

There are many things I do not understand until I start writing and seeking to express what I don't understand.

So I write.

Some time ago somebody I knew said that I blogged for attention and that I blogged to whine. To him; as long as you post anything on the Internet you want people to read it and you want attention - admiration, pity, empathy and whatever it is that you are aiming to receive in return.

While I got very angry at those accusations, being the chronic navel-gazer I am,  I asked myself whether I really did it for attention.

I tried very hard to see my writings in that light; a part of me wanted to prove him true so that I could stop myself from doing so. I did not want to be someone who needed attention from others, even though I don't have anything against people who do.

If I wanted to make my blog palatable, it would contain a lot more pictures, less navel-gazing and be generally much more pleasant to read. Right now it is - and will remain - just walls of texts. No, just like the author I don't like, Haruki Murakami, I write purely to indulge myself.

I write to practice my valued skill in writing; I write to organise my thoughts and force myself to translate foggy thoughts into clear ideas; I write to understand myself because at any moment I feel so many emotions I end up not ever knowing what it is I feel and why.

I write to honour and remember notable emotions, memories and lessons I learned. I write to try and become a better person. I write to improve my clumsy English.

There are those who ask me why I don't write in a personal diary instead - it should not be assumed that I do not. I never run out of thoughts to write about and my diary is used to jot down those flashes of realisations that last only a second. It is for scribbling quasi-romantic one liners about my extremist views of the world. My diary is where I put the incoherent, messy, unintelligible (and unintelligent) thoughts that I shouldn't have.

My blog is where I try to put those ideas coherently and confidently.

I think this is the last post where I debunk accusations and clear up assumptions. I do not like doing these things because I really owe nobody explanations and neither do I have anything to prove.

I don't like to defend myself. I think being defensive makes one look very weak, makes one look like one's ideas could be deconstructed by a single statement made by a single imbecile.

I'm not on that level.

What I want in life

A lot of adults ask me what I want in life but are never satisfied with my answer.

Apparently the correct answer would be to *insert any lucrative occupation*.

Honestly, as long as I achieve what I want in life, I don't really care what I end up doing for a living. Life is not about money. Those who earn more spend more and those who earn less spend less. The sun rises and sets, the moon waxes and wanes; life goes on and people live, rich or poor.

People live and people die; they enjoy luxury and they suffer poverty but after having experienced either, I didn't feel any different. If you're not happy, you're not going to be happy either way and the same applies to happiness.

If you're sad in a Ferrarri, you're still sad. There is no difference.

We live our lives wanting to be accepted by others but most of these people can't even accept themselves.

What do I want in life?

I want to become unbreakable and radiant.
I want others to feel hope when they look at me.
I want to be kind and strong and unbreakable.

It matters not what I end up doing. To me this world is a transient thing anyway, as transient as the food that passes my gut and will be digested and removed tomorrow.

I want to live being honest to my feelings. I don't want to become those people who live life like frightened animals - basing every decision on a single fearful instinct to avoid pain; to avoid facing their own flaws and fear of having to acknowledge who they truly have become as people.

These people; I see them try to dispel their emotions by taking it out on other people and by becoming destructive.

I do not have the answers to the challenge of having been born human, but I would sooner let myself be broken apart over and over than to become a monster.

I just want to live and experience things. Is that an unacceptable expectation?
I want to be hurt and watch myself become stronger. I want to learn things and write about them.
I want to enjoy the weather on a good day. I want to laugh and cry and jump and dance.

No matter how painful a day has become, it doesn't change that the sun will rise regardless the morrow morn.

If something died today, something was also born.

We're all going to be just fine.

Navel gazing: Solitude

I don't hang out with people. I don't go to movies, I don't go to clubs or the beach. If I went out, I am usually alone. I tell myself that I don't really see the point or enjoy in doing all those things I listed. Sometimes it is true, sometimes it is not.

Perhaps, I don't allow myself to like or want the same things because I am afraid to live in the same world as them.

I constantly as myself- is that the only world? Do I choose to be alone because I'm afraid of this world? A quote written by Ayn Rand in The Fountainhead has always spoken to me.

"If I found a job, a project, an ideal or a person I wanted ----- I'd have to depend on the whole world. Everything has strings leading to everything else. We're all so tied up altogether. We're all in a net, the net is waiting, and, we're pushed into it by one single desire. You want a thing and it's precious to you. Do you know who is standing ready to tear it out of your hands? You can't know, it may be some so involved and so far away, but someone is ready, and you're afraid of them all. And you just cringe and crawl and you beg and you accept them ---- just so they'll let you keep it. And look at whom you come to accept."

It is true that every time I wanted something I got hurt. I am not proud to admit that this has lead me to give up on many things. Perhaps this is also the reason I constantly feel so detached from this world and and unable to keep up with the pace of life sometimes.

Am I running away? But I honestly have no interest in doing all these things. They don't enrich my mind and I constantly have to adjust to a social setting and talk to people about pointless, boring things. I don't want to gossip about people.  I don't want to exchange half assed and ignorant opinions on the latest hot topic. All these things are frivolous and do not matter to me.

I don't want to watch a movie that has no deeper meaning and have to experience these emotions and thoughts they are trying to force me to experience via Dolby Digital and surround sound. I want to think for myself. I don't like looking at and listening to stuff exploding. I like peace and quiet.

Talking to people is exhausting. Sometimes I think most people are just listening, waiting for any opportunity to dislike you. Others listen to what you say with only the intention to argue and impose their views. Some listen to find your weakness so that they feel less weak themselves.

It's a futile fight and I've nothing to prove. All these people waste my time.

Perhaps one of the contributors to my strange attitude is that I was bullied in the past. I no longer feel it necessary to divulge the details but to be rejected and ridiculed for very little reason at a vulnerable age may have moulded me to reject the world that I perceived to have rejected me.

I wonder how the rest of bullied children turned out. Are they living normal lives now or have they become recluses like me?

In any case, I do wish that those people who bullied me in the past have stopped their antics and are living fulfilling lives now. Lives so fulfilling that they realise the world is bigger than their backyard and narrow minds. I hope they have stopped hurting people for no good reason.

There ARE things that I like to do. I like having tea with good company. I like taking walks and wondering about the world with good company. I like creating things - writing, drawing, dancing, making trinkets.

I don't particularly feel that being part of a social circle would make me complete as a person, even though I really do wish to know enough people to play Cards Against Humanity.

Writing practice: Life ain't fair.

Saying "Life ain't fair." like it is your answer to the world is saying "Justice is irrelevant."

Just because it isn't going to be fair doe not mean we don't have to try our best and give it a good fight. I think "life ain't fair" is not, contrary to popular belief, a mature or adult thing to say.

Indeed, perhaps those who say it perceive themselves to have experienced more disappointments than they were prepared for and came to this defeatist conclusion. It is often said with a tinge of self-righteousness, from a person trying to imply that you have experienced less disappointments than they and they are mocking your wounded idealism.

The statement proposes that the 'mature' and more 'knowing' attitude is that where one is cynical and does not believe in fairness. Telling a young person this doesn't encourage them in any way; it instead pushes them to give up on hope and accept disappointments and ultimately, stop fighting.

Perhaps, if I took a less cynical view, this statement is a poor attempt to offer comfort? It doesn't make sense to me this way. How is telling me that I am going to be hurt as long as I am in this world going to relieve the pain of my disappointment now? Am I expected to numb my heart and that is your proposed solution?

I think dampening your hopes and idealism or expecting the worst from this world constantly in order to avoid getting hurt or disappointed is a far, far cry from strength. I think it is a sign of fear and running away from reality.

My proposition is an ironic one, because 'life ain't fair' is supposed to represent THE harsh reality of this world, right? It's supposed to be the opposite of the childish idealism we have learned, as a society, will come to an end one day. It is almost an accepted convention that 'reality' will smother it.

I have never once understood or accepted this. I have rejected this idea and I will continue to reject this idea. Why should 'reality' be a solid institution when we humans were the ones who collectively built it together? We built this world to serve us. We own reality. I don't understand why reality seems to have taken over and why we have become defeated by it.

No. I want to work hard and control my reality. I want to live in a world I like and want to live in. Reality should be a fluid concept. Anything built by so many people should be controlled by so many people.

Dismissing your disappointment is akin to sweeping an issue under the carpet; while it may smother it, its corpse will remain in your mind, and after a while, your world will become a junkyard for these old wounds. Perhaps this is the world of a cynic.

I have been told that inside every cynic is a disappointed idealist - while it is a lofty idea, I believe inside EVERYBODY is an idealist. It just depends on whether we want to listen to that idealist or whether we have killed him a long time ago.

But I disagree with a defeatist and cynical attitude. I think it is a sin to tell someone who has hope in his heart to give up just because you decided to defeatist about life. Who died and made you guru? We all have our own ways to deal with disappointments. Giving in, while being a popular choice, is not the only one.

I like another maxim - there is no fixed answer to life, just the same as how I dislike Math questions. Open ended answers means there isn't right or wrong. My interpretation of how to get anything done is 'keep trying'! I think if we do not give up or give in, we will find our own way of doing that thing we wanted to do.

Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

So stop suffering.