The year I became aware.

Well, well, would you look at that? 365 days have come and almost gone, and another 365 more days will come, and another, and another… and to infinity and beyond. 2012 is a great year, in my opinion. I don’t think I have the best year, realistically, I think my life is quite boring and plain, not as exciting as I hoped it would be, not as interesting as I wanted it to be. But I have also done my (more than enough) bit of complaining and whining about where I am going – or rather, where I am not going – so, I think I have enough lemons that life has handed to me to last me a few more years and some to spare.

Good things though, I can never stop thinking about.

My mouth is constantly running about the humdrum of my daily life, about people I just can’t seem to like so much, and about the dullness I see in my future; especially about my future that I see that makes me  feel so much apprehension and restlessness, as if I can’t go anywhere if I have no money. I get so frustrated many times that I just want to throw my hands up, scoff at nothing and go, “Could you please be more creative with the kind of shit you throw at me?” Answers don’t just come so easily when you want it. One question comes up and you answer, then two questions come up and they overlap, but you need some time to answer, then you fall back when three questions come up. By the 5^th question, you’d feel as if your life is perpetually filled with questions, lesser of answers. But I digress.

Good things though, I can never stop thinking about.

The little reminders are what keeps me going, what gets me out of bed to go to a tiny, grey office and sit in a tiny, grey cubicle and type, sometimes, horribly-written data into a tiny, grey, old computer using a difficult keyboard. I get to see my very adorable friends at work, I get to be useful for a bit, I get to see sunlight, I get to appreciate my time with my family, I get income so I don’t have to rely too much on my overworked parents and to share their burdens. So our generation spends more time looking at the screens than actually going out and ‘facing’ people, so our generation seems to be losing sight of our roots, so there might seem to be very little hope. But most of us, as far as I know, are trying our best to be the best we can be with the little experience we have and with the guidance we have. For so many times, we are always losing sight of the good stuff. We constantly take the good, simple, little things for granted. I mean, look, I’ve got clothes to wear, food to eat, friends to hang out with. Need more justification? I have no venereal disease, I think I’m not ugly, I have almost all the freedom to do most of the things I want, and I’m not a handicap. We live in a safe place, like a sheltered haven hidden in the deep mountains, protected and snugly cocooned; we’ve got no natural disasters, thanks to our good geographical location, we are pretty much civilized and we’ve got great local food! Tell me, what more could a simple girl like me ask for?

This year was a torrent of chaos mixed with a bit of cynical humour and some victory cheer. Some of the bigger events that I can think of are the USA’s Presidential Election, when Barack Obama won Mitt Romney’s “binder full of women” and “legitimate rape.” Well, yeah, if “legitimate rape” was legal, I would assassinate Romney. God bless America and God bless Obama. Can you imagine how many such people are there living in that country alone? I shudder…

Then there is the legalizing of weed in some states, and… the legalization of gay marriages! Isn’t that just wonderful news!? I am absolutely thrilled, even though it’s not going to happen any time soon here in this conservative administration. Then, there have been multiple sex scandals and horrifying car accidents that happened, right here, in our peaceful little sunny island. Would you believe that? Terrorists attacks had been on the rise again; the Libyan and Syrian conflicts, and the tense Israelite-Palestinian crisis. Those events led to the birth of a hero – to be exact, a very young heroine.

Her name is Malala Yousafzai. She is a 15 year-old girl from Pakistan who was a victim of the Taliban. She was – and is – being targeted by them for blogging about her life in Swat and for championing women’s rights and education. She was shot in the head and neck while returning home on a school bus. Thankfully, this brave, young girl pulled through and recuperated in a hospital in the United Kingdom. Many people stood up for her, yet the thick-skinned Talibans still vowed to kill her. November 10^th is Malala Day. I admire this young heroine for having to go through what we lucky kids would never know. To be in the middle of your adolescence, to have your whole life ahead of you, but to live in surrounding paranoia and fear where a stray bullet could have stopped that small seedling of hope and future for ever takes a lot more courage than the toughest Marine. This kind of courage and sensibility is the kind that I want to teach my children about. Malala Yousafzai must live and be the beacon of hope for the human race; an example of that greatness was not predestined nor passed down, it is what one makes himself out to become great, regardless of age, gender, religion, education. Greatness comes from the heart of the being.

Before Christmas, a mass gun-shooting happened in Newtown, Connecticut, that took away 26 lives. 20 were just elementary school children and the other 6 were teachers in Sandy Hook Elementary. The gunman killed his mother first before driving to the school and began shooting and then killing himself after. The thing was, the gunman was only 20. That’s my age, you guys. I would rather not remember the details of this terrible event, and honestly, nothing can justify it at all, no matter what. 20 little children, with faces brimming full of hope and wonder, who might become great people, with smiles as bright as sunshine, whose parents will never be able to see again. 6 teachers, they were brave, righteous people with hearts that was full of passion, but now their families would have one less person coming home. I was sad, and I still am. Gun control could be blamed, but really, how could things like this be justifiable, ever?

And, the most recent, talked-about topic everywhere is the brutal and gruesome gang-raping of an Indian girl by six men in New Delhi. This was not the only gang-rape incident that happened, another girl had been a victim but her pleas for help to the police had been treated like a dirty joke. They deeply disgust me, how actual people could ignore the voices of the needy and the helpless. The Indian police told the girl to marry one of the rapists or settle it with money. As if it was not awfully detestable enough, the New Delhi girl had to undergo multiple organs transplant; she was abused and thrown out of the bus window, her intestines were hanging out and had to be removed, and- oh, I can’t go on any more. My heart ached when it was reported that both did not survive. Could you imagine the kind of pain she went through? The lazy scum who was supposed to uphold justice and law decided that it would save his time and so told her to marry the vile being who more than disrespected her and her morals. She took poison and ended her life. ”Damini” – aptly named after a movie of the same name about a woman fighting for the maid who was molested by a family member – had also passed on because she suffered just too much.

I have so much strong emotions for these terrible things, that when I think about my problems, I feel so small and vulnerable. I could actually feel my throat tighten and my heart beating faster as I recall these unfortunate events. Not because I am a woman, but because, humanity. Yes, humanity. Something inside of me has been crying out for attention a while ago and that something made me feel like doing something big. That thing made me want to stand up and do things, it made me inspired and it made me restless. I want to make a change. I want to make an impressionable, deep change.

I’m not sad about anything that concerns me. I just don’t like what is happening in the outside world. Like the deaths of the dolphins in captive at Resorts World Sentosa. Who will stand up for these wordless marine creatures? Can anybody tell that they are actually depressed? To be separated from their families and then kept in a small tank, forced to do silly tricks for some dead fish? For whose amusement? To whom are they entertaining? So many questions, but not enough. Right now, the voices of justification have been turning into static noises by the distorted amplifiers of capitalism, and it is so, goddamned frustrating.

To the starving children in Ethiopia, to America’s fiscal cliff thing, I don’t think it matters what my age is. The fact is that I have become more aware. Almost ironically, I realized this through the convenience of technology. Yes, aware. That’s the word, aware.

What am I?

I’m not a vigilante, not an activist, not an environmentalist, not a politician, not a revolutionary, not anything. I can’t be that great because I am too lazy. But if I had the kind of knowledge, the kind of power, I would do all that I can to change the world. I’m not making an excuse for myself to just sit here and type things out and then pray for world peace. With the right kind of experience and knowledge, anyone can be outstanding. And I want to be outstanding but I know I’ll take some time. Give me the wisdom then give me the power, I know I’ll make good use of them.

I just want to make a change. Maybe not globally, but I would like to make a considerable, noticeable, and unforgettable change, at least, over here.

Post-apocalypse advice.

For those who thought the world was going to end,





I'm sorry that life didn't work out the way you wanted.


Moving on.

I wonder if anybody seized the coming of the end of the world and did something... fun/ crazy/ monumental/ frightening/ stupid that day? Hmm. I guess not. Because if they did, there would be stories about it. Anyway, I was thinking that if anyone did, I hope it's not something you will regret in the future, like spending all your frickin' money on.. on... on...... SOMETHING, for example.

Spending all your frickin' money on something
Good luck, bro. You're gonna need a lot of this to get by.

Confess to your crush
Well, good on you! I hope things work out for you and your crush. Go out and celebrate! Maybe one day if you guys get married, you can tell your kids the story of how you guys got together. "On that fateful day, it was the 21st of December 2012. Your mother was wearing a white dress and I was wearing a grey shirt. The world was about to end, but I didn't believe in that, no. Your mother did. So she told me she liked me and the world didn't end. If the world ended, you guys wouldn't be listening to this story now."

Oh, no?

But, for those of you poor little birdies who didn't succeed... MOVE ON. There will be a BETTER one for you - especially those in the 20s. Time's a-wasting, you're not going to wait for some fool who wouldn't even think about giving you a chance. This is the 21st Century. Sure, the 18th and 19th and 20th centuries had really romantic stories but, "This is the 21st Century." (I could've copied and pasted that but I refuse.) Back then, there were courting procedures/ mating rituals, the 21st Century has a different set of procedures and a lot of those procedures involve money (especially if you want to mate). If Rihanna can find love in a hopeless place, in which case is Chris Brown, so obviously, can you. Stop all that self-pity, stop comparing, stop hiding in a corner of every shopping mall they hang out at or stalking their Facebook. Get out, put on lipstick, wear that new pair of Cheap Mondays you thought might look gay on you but wear it anyway, call yo' bitches or yo' homies or whatever and just have a good time. Fuck what they say about playing hard to get and forget. If you want to be serious, be serious or shut your trap about how guys are all the same/ how girls are such sluts. In any case, I wish you all well in your romantic endeavours.

Teenagers
Don't worry. You'll grow old.
Der.
Older.
Yup.

Non-believers
Great! Now you have to work for the rest of your lives.

Kidding.
Christmas is comin' 'round, and in another few more days, it'll be New Year's Eve and New Year, and for like the Chinese, the Lunar New Year in February, and like, National Day in August, Deepavali in October, your birthday, your father's birthday, your mother's birthday and your great-great-great-great-great-great grandaunty's birthday (so great that the government declared a day off for you to go home and celebrate her birthday) (or you can take MC). Lovely, really. Spend time with your family (not your great x 6 grandaunty) and watch your children grow their first tooth, learn a to play a new musical instrument, learn to read - maybe, while you're at that - do the laundry forever, date the nerd who has been crushing on you since Secondary One, etc.

Lastly, to the (underaged) kids who wanted to die doing it
I hope you got protection and the parents - or police - didn't catch you. All the best in life, children.


No, I was not being condescending.

I couldn't think of any more other categories because I'm freezing my butt off here. I've already been to the toilet like thrice in 5 hours.

I spent my day out at my crappy part-time job, which, was well, crappy. But I made up for it at night when I hung out with my friends and then felt like my eyeballs were shriveling up because I wore my contacts for more than 14 hours. See, I bet most of you spent your post-apocalypse in your dream jobs and drove your dream cars and got your dream girls/ rich boys and led the dream life. (;

Merry Christmas.
xx

A very good night. (:

My December is filled up to the brim. Really great. I'm surprised I even had the energy to go for a night run! Well, luckily I had the guys who were really spontaneous to do it with me. I can't help but be paranoid about robbers at night. Hmmmm.

Anyway, I was reading my archives (again) but only last year's November and December, and I felt really lucky that I blogged about what happened then. I mean, sure I could have written it down in my journal but... I forgot what was the point I was making. But whatever it is, I have something that keeps some of my forgotten memories.

Oh, my adolescent blog posts.. so full of fervor and pent-up angst, those unfiltered words and 'twit' language. Good 'ol days.

When I realise that time is flying by, I become more aware of my happenings and I fret about many things. Time is nothing but a measurement of Man's days and nights, nothing but a tool to tell the dark from the light, to give us rhythm. 2012 has been a good year. I felt a lot of pressure, I had many tough problems, I experienced many new things, and definitely gained even more than I had expected. Negative and angry, though, my tweets are, deep down I really appreciate what everyone has done for me. The stupid choices that I made taught me that I can't live like that any more and how much of a lazy fuck I am. This year, I experienced the lowest of lows, ranging from self-esteem to virtues, and the highest of highs, like from the many birthdays I attended, the bonds that strengthened. I learned the most and lost the most with this year but I never once regretted anything I have done so far.

True: I could have taken a different course in polytechnic, I could have led a better life, I could have listened to my parents and take the safe path out to society, I could have dropped my dreams of writing.

Do you see? They are the truths, and nothing more than the 'could have's, they are statements. They did not mean that I regretted the other choices I had made.

The best lesson that I have learned in 2012 is that I built this bed and therefore I shall sleep in it. Not reaping what you sow, because in my opinion, that should mean retribution/ karma. I never knew what responsibility was until I tasted the bitterness that my parents face everyday for the past 20 or 30 years.

Patience is virtue. And so is respect. Both, though, I learnt it the hard way. It is less embarrassing, but it is harder than I imagined. I'm glad my parents taught it to me, instead of me having to learn it from some know-it-all stranger. I get so angry so I just rant. But it became a little unhealthy and I got annoyed with myself. Sometimes, I like social media like that and the fact that people who are following me haven't told me they didn't like me, is my good fortune. Well... good for me, I guess. (:

I've noticed a lot more good things, only when I pause to reflect or when I have a comfy chair and a good friend with me. Maybe I should focus more on these good stuff, but too much of that would seem like bragging. #humblebrag *chuckles*

2012. The year I was stressing about passing my final exams in high school and getting the diploma, my finances, my future, my study plans, the many joyous weddings and the grave matters of the (unfortunately) more funerals I attended, my new-found freedom, great friends and their great adventures, and mainly the year I got through 7 months apart from my fine man. How I could ever make it through without the support from my brothers and sisters, without the experience from my stupid choices, without the love from my family? (:

If this sounds like an eulogy, I don't mean to jinx it if you believe it, but the world isn't going to end any time soon. If there was an Upper Being, then he'd be a fool to end the world like this. I know I'm stuck in a rut like a twig stuck between the rocks as it flows down the river. There's bound to be calm water and rapids along the way. And if I hit the waterfall, then my time is up and I will shout, "GERONIMO!" all the way down. I won't be afraid of death, I'm only afraid of the grief that my loved ones would have to bear. Life is so short, we are so insignificant. But I want to make a change. A significant change. If not the world, then to my world.

What was supposed to be a quick update about today (as in yesterday), turned out to be one naggy post. My heart still goes out to the Newtown, Connecticut shooting that killed 20 children and 6 educators. It was a loss of bright futures, and a loss of strength. The human spirit is strong, and we should never underestimate it for we might undermine our potentials or lose them completely.

Tonight was a very good night. I am sorely tired but I am feeling good vibes about the days to come this month. There will be Christmas, and there will be someone special who will be coming back home to me soon. (:

Merry Christmas everyone.
xx v

And there she was.

You hear birds chirping. You smell the thick scent of grass. You feel a gentle breeze caressing ever so slightly across your cheeks. You taste something bitter in your mouth and you feel perplexed. You continue to keep your eyes closed.

"Why?"

This question, how many times have you been asking this in your lifetime?

"How?"

This usually comes after the first question, if it ever gets answered.

What is this bitter taste?

You think about where you are now, I am lying down on a green pasture- no, wait, I am standing atop a hill overlooking... a meadow. Your eyelids threaten to open as curiosity starts creeping around your nerves, tingling them like the dying vibrato of a plucked guitar string. You continue to investigate further with your eyes closed.

Yesterday, she said she was leaving. The day before yesterday, what was I doing? You furrow your brows and think hard. I was busy at the shop. Breakfast was the usual, and so was lunch. Dinner was a medium-rare sirloin steak with a side of mashed potatoes and boiled carrots and broccoli. As you recall, you feel a little hungry, yet, the bitter taste does not go away. You could remember it so clearly because it was your last meal with her.

You first met her when you were just a mere part-time barista, waiting tables and clearing them up as well, in your aimless, yet invigorating fresh-out-of high school days. All of your senses prickle while you thought about that first encounter...

She was a regular at the cafe you were working at, then. The cafe was a small coffee shop that was nothing really impressive; a typical coffee joint with its whitewashed walls and those electrical IKEA paper lanterns dangling above forlornly, timber furniture and plywood booths for groups or evening casual dinners that were filled with many different cushions of shapes and sizes, concrete floors and their mismatched carpets all over. But you really liked the cosy atmosphere, because that was why you wanted to work there in the first place thinking that it would be cool. However, time seemed to pass without waiting for you when with every hang-outs with your friends and the bump-ins with your fellow seniors, you feel left behind when at first you felt that you were on the edge of... something more to come.

That day, you broke a cheap ceramic coffee mug when you accidentally scalded your hand because you were so deep in thought about your future. You muttered an inaudible apology and proceeded to pick the broken pieces up while Harold told you off. What did he say? Something about "you useless little punk" and "trash should belong in the trash." Still distracted, you cut yourself on one of the broken pieces and you let out a frustrated groan. You did not expect all these, and it annoyed you that they were happening one after another and at the same time. All you wanted was to be left in peace with your thoughts. This is not my day, you thought as you dumped the broken pieces into the trash and decided to call it a day from work. You sighed deeply, Harold's not going to like this, but fuck him, I have bigger issues than a stupid day's work of lattes and cappucinos.

As you expected, Harold did not hold back. Well, he did not yell but the customers definitely heard and saw him berating his French-style moustache off. You found yourself concentrating on his heaving belly as he breathed out his words furiously and loudly. When he was done, you shrugged off the silly apron, slung your bag over your shoulders and walked out of the cafe with the air of a teenage rebel. Once you stepped out, you paused and took in a deep breath. You mutter another curse and started walking to the nearby park.

"Oi!"

You turned around.

And there she was.

Prologue

            Once upon a time, in a land where trees were homes, fairy dust granted wishes, and people never left, there was a big, old willow tree. In the willow tree, there was a little girl who lived in it all by herself. This little girl had no siblings, but she had a family. Her parents doted on her a lot and they bought her many things she asked for. She had a grandmother and an aunty who would cook for her and clean the inside of the willow tree. This little girl was very loved by her family. Sometimes, she would go to another fig tree to visit her other grandmother and grandfather because her parents had to sell their time to put food on the table for the family. Now, this grandfather of hers loved this little girl more than anything in this world and took great care of the little girl. He would bring her to the nursery to play with other little girls and boys, and then wait by the nursery’s gates to bring her to the playground before going home. The little girl was always very happy whenever she visited her grandparents who lived in the fig tree, but sometimes she would cry when her parents left her there because she would miss them.

            The little girl would sometimes follow her uncle to the river to catch some tadpoles for fun. But grandfather would not allow unless there was an adult with them. So, grandfather’s brother who frequently came to visit grandfather with big, brown-coloured bottles of dark liquid that smelled weird would take them out to the river. Upon reaching the river, the little girl’s granduncle told her that she can’t go down the river because it was high tide. The little girl did not understand what “high tide” was so she threw a tantrum and sulked until granduncle laughed and said, “All right, all right. Look over there, by the tall weeds. There, do you see it?” granduncle squatted down and pointed out to the other side of the river. The little girl turned around but saw nothing. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, tall weeds started to sprout from the bank of the river and there was something brown and sturdy bobbing up and down amongst the weeds. The little girl gasped, “Oh! There is a boat!” Granduncle stood up and laughed some more then took the little girl and her uncle over a green bridge and to the boat. However, the boat had no oars and so they could not row out to catch anything. The little girl was so fascinated by the sudden appearance of the boat that she did not mind not catching any tadpoles if she could sit in the little boat for a while. So granduncle helped the little girl into the boat and uncle joined in. Some time passed and they decided to go home, empty-handed but happy because the little girl sat in a boat for the first time.

            Since then, the little girl’s granduncle brought even more weird-smelling black liquid in those brown bottles whenever he visited grandfather and hardly ever went to the river with her uncle anymore. The little girl did not dislike her granduncle, or the brown bottles, but she could not understand why her grandfather and granduncle both loved drinking that weird liquid that would make their faces and eyes go red, and their voices loud and harsh. The little girl would always keep to herself when they got loud because granduncle would say things that made her feel embarrassed and grandfather, as if he heard a funny joke, would laugh beside him.

            On the last day of nursery school, grandmother, grandfather and the little girl’s mother came to fetch her home from school together. They brought her to the playground together and the little girl was so delighted. The little girl’s mother brought a camera and took a photo of her on a rocking horse, and then she took a photo of the little girl with grandfather. The little girl loved her grandfather and she was very happy that grandfather always smiled whenever he was with her. Granduncle’s visits became less frequent after the little girl’s graduation from nursery school. The little girl did not really miss him. She did not know when exactly, but sometimes in the afternoons when granduncle never came and nursery classes ended, grandfather would insert a syringe with a needle into a small vial of water then poke himself with it and the water would slowly disappear into his arm. She did not understand what grandfather said when she asked him what was the water for, but she felt sad. When it was raining heavily, the inside of the fig tree would be dim. Sometimes lightning would flash so angrily that it would illuminate the entire fig tree, and sometimes thunder would boom so loud that the little girl felt that the earth was shaking. The little girl would stay close to her grandfather and hide under grandfather’s favourite chair and observed his skinny ankles. The little girl’s grandfather would chuckle at that then coax her out for naptime.

            The little girl loved her grandfather for protecting her from thunder and lightning, and sometimes, her mother’s fierce scolding when she refused to eat her veggies or write nicely in her homework. But nonetheless, she loved her grandfather.

            One day, as if in a dream, the little girl’s grandfather said goodbye.

What I am envious of.

You're thinking, "Oh, she wants to lose weight/ be skinny/ perfect body/ perfect teeth/ perfect hair/ perfect face/ perfect legs/ good grades/ be rich."
Superficially, yes, of course I'd like that, I'd like all of that very much.

Now this part, is the part where all the snotty little know-it-alls are going to be like, "Pfffft, now she's going to say that she don't need looks nor riches, she just wants to be happy, like those stupid hipster posers that she is."
Well, I can't deny that the above statement is pretty much true, except the 'hipster poser' part. (You can call me a hipster but I'm definitely more real than any of the 'real' hipsters you know/ are.)

All right, I'll cut to the chase. I'm envious of artists.
Not just the artists who paint, I wish I have the minds of writers like Haruki Murakami, Jodi Picoult and J.K. Rowling, the vocal chords of P!nk, Avril Lavigne's spunkiness and power with the instruments, the lyrical geniosity of Two Door Cinema Club or Ed Sheeran, maybe Billie Joe Armstrong, the personality of Emma Watson in sense of her attitude towards acting.

Probably a little bit much for me to ask, or not at all, because I am born without a talent. Generally speaking, everyone's good at something - a consolation to myself, I should have something that I am good at.
But,
I don't know what.

I like writing, it's probably the easiest thing to do. Just pick up a pen and grab a piece of paper and just scribble words. We've been writing for all of our lives, how is that difficult.
Nothing difficult if I didn't think that I want to take writing seriously- scratch that, properly.

When I read, I truly get transported to that world that the author writes, and if it intrigues me, fascinates me, shows me its world, I would befriend the characters, I would marry the plot, I would bury the ending. I will write, someday, a proper something to call a read, and I try to envision that first baby step of success but instead I cringe. I am afraid of showing people my words.

It is sadly ironic that I post this entry on my blog and then be frightened of its viewership. Sure, visualising the end-product is easy, it's just a perfect picture of me holding up a book that has a nice title and a nice cover to a typical 400 or 500-page paperback with my name on the spine.
I can't imagine the process of writing it, what would my parents think of the things that I wrote, if I were trying to write intimate scenes or dark thoughts?
Not a big problem, actually, but I've got nowhere to start, I have not a single shred of idea nor knowledge of beginnings.

And here I sit, moping. Paradox.

I am envious of such brilliant minds, of such capable hands, of such wonderful eyes. I'd want to pick their brains to know them, to get under their skin and understand them, to be so familiar with their every thought of action that when I read their books, listen to their songs, look at their masterpieces, everything falls into place. I want to know the underlying meanings of the subtle warnings in a book, that odd but catchy rhythm of the verse, the significance of the insignificant blotch on the canvas. I want to see them living out their lives as the prodigy that they are, the masters of their soul, the beggars of their body. Like Beethoven, Hitler, Billie Joe Armstrong, Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Jackson, Haruki Murakami, Sylvia Plath, William Shakespeare, Terry Fox, Steve Prefontaine, Elvis Presley, Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart, Walt Disney. Some of them are not categorised as artists, but the way they carry out their purposes is like a river that flows meaningfully; artists paint them, writers make poems of them, and the songstresses seduce by them.

Days go by seeing me getting just a bit more emptier than I should have been. The restlessness and frustrations that won't cease because I am helpless and lousy. The fog that seems to become thicker the more I go to warmer places; places where they are supposed to be clear.

I'm not bitter-jealous, neither do I feel the electric sting sourness of the envy. Only in the sense of the word, unfeeling. Pretty much, this whole thing just sums up to one word: paradox.

But surely, I am envious of the abilities of artists. To have a talent, a gift, that can be so easily dispensed on a whim, at the master's beck and call. I would never tire of writing forever, of painting or drawing forever, or of plucking strings and singing sirens forever.

The act of thinking.

Recently, I have been dreaming. Dreaming in my sleep, that is. I haven't dreamt as regularly as recently since.. well, since a long time. So I thought about why am I only dreaming more recently, and then I thought that maybe it was because that I have been thinking a lot. Then I think about what the things that I have been thinking about, and I think like, a shit-tonnes of things. Russell Peter is right, women can never shut their mouths. Even if we could, we wouldn't be able to shut that annoying voice in our brains whenever we try to sleep, whenever we want to have lunch, every time we are faced with choices, every time we are having fun.

Every time we are alone.

I ran my first night run alone just now and it was scary. I'm not afraid of the dark, I'm just afraid that I'll get robbed and have no energy to run away from the robber/ to catch the robber. I had like, a few scenarios playing out in my mind, about a hundred dialogues that might come up, and a blizzard of kung-fu actions that I thought of doing when it comes to the worst-case scenario. When I run, I concentrate a lot on trying to not have any physical contact with anyone (I'm neurotic like that), I think of my post-run exercises, I think of random embarrassing moments, work, life, food, my friends, things that I want to do when I get home, clothes, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, a funny name I came across, bananas, cats, that cute passerby, shows that I have yet to watch/ already watched, things that I need to do, songs, money (ugh, I'd usually frown really bad then get a headache), AND A WHOLE LOT MORE. But mostly, I think of many individual persons and reflect on myself.

People say they like running at night because they can think better as it's quiet and cooler at night. I could never wrap my head around that logic. Hello, it's 11pm, what the fuck are you doing, you should be enjoying the warmth of your bed not torturing your already-tired body. Well, I ran late today because I just needed to, my body told me that it needs to stop being a lazy fuck. I don't think clearly when I run. My thoughts lap over a gazillion times so it's as chaotic as the McDonald's Hello Kitty craze. If you thought dubstep hurt your brain, my thoughts are the nuclear spill of TEPCO's Daiichi nuclear plant thingy.

Just trying to blog this out is taking a lot of time because I'm in the living room and my uncle just keeps switching channels on TV; I get so distracted when The Simpson's come up but then he decides to be a prick and switch to some boring BBC Knowledge channel about cars.

I think a lot better when it's quiet, but then I get so fidgety because the quietness rings in my ears and then I'd feel so restless. Sigh, sometimes I really want to punch myself in the mouth for being such a noob like this.

When I was younger (secondary school), my thoughts were just mostly filled with..... nothing. I spent most of my time playing Maplestory and Audition and like, stupid handheld games that I don't think much. When I do, it's just school, homework and my boyfriend. In retrospect, my life was so fucking simple and good and I was such a boring kid. I think I still am, I mean, who blogs about thinking and thinks about thinking as if thinking is a topic that people thinks about.

...You get the point.

But as I think more and reflect, I learnt about myself and people, and... kinda understand a lot more things that I won't understand from an encyclopaedia. Plus, thinking is great exercise for your mind. Also, if you're wondering why I abuse Twitter like that, this is your answer. Twitter's like the vomit chute of my brain's not-so-filtered regurgitation. I am an addict and I am not sorry. Nights like this are perfect for thinking; in any way you want: loudly, quietly, ruminatively, insensitively, unashamedly.

Thinking, and articulating your thoughts that did not go through any thinking, have a thin line that separates the people and.. the idiots. Thinking involves listening and listening involves shut-the-fuck-up. So the people who open their yap and then wonder why people get mad at them, they're the idiots. Listening gives you information. Information is fact that you hear the first time, then it gets chewed on and that's thinking, finally it will be swallowed and that is understanding. We all have different perspectives and depending on every individual's taste, information might get stuck between the teeth, or might taste bitter (e.g. First Impressions and gossips). It might choke or slide down the esophagus like chicken soup, and if you get diarrhoea, you need more Vitamins C and E. That is, compassion and empathy.

Our thoughts are the only intangible thing that really, truly belongs to us. Our actions define us, right? So what makes us do? What makes us act? Think, with a big heart, a spacious mind. Ignorance is not bliss. If you need an example- Amy Cheong. If you have a narrow mind, you'll walk a narrow path.

What I'm trying to get at is that our thoughts are wholly products of our essences, they are as unique as our DNA because we all have different voices (duh), they are something that we can all control because they are purely manufactured by us. We are all on different levels of sanity, and our willpower are not God-like (then again I doubt God needs willpower when He has all the power without even lifting a finger). We shouldn't doubt our thoughts and we should always be honest about our thoughts to ourselves. Who said anything about sharing all your thoughts?! And also, why should anyone lie to themselves? We stop believing because we stop thinking. Imagination is free; it has no laws, it won't judge itself, it is infinite.

"The truth will set you free."

The Earth is more than just a sphere of atoms that become physical matter. Just travelling from Dover to Pasir Ris takes 45 minutes of your life and we are all complaining that that is a long time. Have you looked at the atlas, or at least looked at Google Map with no address? No? Here. Now look at Singapore on the world map. Then go west and look for Mississippi. I don't know where is Mississippi. I just like saying "Mississippi." Haa haaaaa. :D

Sometimes I think I'm just entertaining myself with these thoughts.