I feel not too awful. Just lazy. Home makes you feel lazy. Broadband makes you lazy. Video Games make you lazy. Wearing ugly shirts make you lazy to move around. Chocolate makes you lazy. Sweaty faces make you lazy. A messy house makes you lazy. Poor lighting makes you lazy.
Listening to Bob Dylan completes your laziness.
German for “Oh No Oh No Oh No”. 090909. The most beautiful date on earth.
Oh yeah, I started to learn German again.
Today, she came again to see him. He might not even remember her, but don’t fret; there’s always that yellow card where he can check up on her all too recently past, so he reads for a while, prepping himself up, and calls her inside.
He asks her what was wrong, she replies oh a bit of a headache is all.
-how long
-a week or so
-did you take any meds
-ah nope i am too lazy
-but why bother to come today
-i wanted some meds
A paradox.
She turns her back while he examines her breath, slowly. She made sure she lets go very slowly to produce irregular effects. But she knows, that he knows.
-can you sleep
-oh yeah, a little
He scribbles something down, and then says he’s done.
-that’s it? what about sleeping pills
-you gotta help yourself. as long as you’re dependent on it you’re never gonna get better.
She frowns. He looks at her attentively, lets go an ultimate sigh.
–motivate yourself to sleep.
-oh
He scrawls something down on another paper, after asking, how many days she wants. She lifts two fingers. He obliges, when he gives all the other people only a day off. Heck, even if she asks for a week, he’d probably give it too.
Because she knows, that he knows
she listens,
she hears,
she reads,
but she just doesn’t want to say it loudly.
I can’t think. Or maybe I think too much. It’s a stream of incessant thinking that is slowly driving me to the depths of depression. Here, right now, time feels like an eternity. Or timeless. A complete fountain of paradoxes, that you know not the difference between the two, because two extreme poles they seem to converge at one point.
Call it madness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. I know when I’m being extremely touchy that I loathe every single fucking encounter with any human being that I crave that moment where I can finally disappear, away from everyone else, at least from everyone I know. I can anticipate when these bouts of extreme existentialism comes. I don’t know what that means anymore. I don’t wanna know. It sounds good though, right now.
Maybe I need a quick fix, maybe I aught to go and really admit that I am that sad and morose and all that negativity, instead of just blaming it on the lack of enthusiasm/response I give due to boredom of everything else. Maybe they’ll do me wonders, maybe they really patch things up, maybe they’ll give you a sense of well being, even for a minute or two.
Every single fucking day you feel as if you’re sucked into this world not your own, being forced doing things you do not want to submit to in the first, yet you tell to yourself; yes I can still stand all of this shite, when you know you’re gonna break down sooner or later. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, maybe not in this fucking year, maybe… I don’t know. You sit down and say, I am I am I am.
It fucked up, I tell ya, when you show up at people’s door without any apparent reason, not knowing what to do, or say, or react. It’s not as if you need ’em, it’s not that they’d ever understand you, even if they proclaim they read you like a fucking book, because humans never really understand other humans. They just assume they do, and they understand people in their own understanding, making wild assumptions and jumping to erroneous conclusions it’s fucking hilarious.
You want to be away from other people, to get away from a place, yet you know you fucking can’t because you can’t gather enough will to get out of ye own bed, so you’re stuck in that one place, until somebody creeps in, and fucking talks to you like you’re a goddam piece of delicate vegetable that needs saving. Well I don’t need saving. Not from people like you, anyway.
You ask me to define people like you, because you are grossly offended, or perhaps a wee bit curious of how my mind works. You’d want my bit of gems, preaching me, obsessing over me, like I’m some fucking goddess when I’m really this fucked up piece of shit. Ye ask if I believed in the almighty, if I had anyone I love, if I still remember whatever I say to you, ye keep asking me like I’m some fucking answering machine.
Oh fine I’ll tell you then, when I feel all too amused by a situation as such. People like you, are just mostly everybody else. I could elaborate for hours on that but sorry, mate, I’ m just not inta it anymore. Or more accurately, I’m just not into you, or what you’re trying to do. I’m just bothered by your presence, like a fly in the market, like a flea in the marketplace, just like what dear old Nietzsche (but you call him knee-shaw) described in his book.
Alas, you call me delusional, telling me that I live in my own world, , conjuring up false tales about you and other people, that I am delirious and henceforth declare me unhealthy. If so then stop bothering me, I don’t need you nor your nasty diagnosis, your declaration of love, your words of comfort, your preachy voice, and whatever else you want to present. All I can say is fuck off and be rid of my sight.
Just leave me alone, because I am better off that way.
And you may start to wonder, what the heck happened to me.
Kisah emo tak bertempat. Dan semestinya tidak benar
**
Malam itu, dia fikir, bahawa dia mahu lari jauh-jauh. Otaknya serabut.
Jadi dia capai kunci kereta, telefon bimbitnya, sedikit wang, dan masukkan kesemuanya dalam saku. Dia berjalan menuju ke pintu dan berpaling.
“Macam ada yang tak kena”.
Dia berfikir sejenak lagi, sebab dia tahu yang mungkin, dia tak akan berjumpa dah orang-orang lain selepas ini, kemudian teringatkan sesuatu, lalu mencapai jam tangan warna putih pemberian ayahnya, lantas memakainya.
Masa, pada malam itu, penting, dia fikir.
Sesudah sampai di suatu tempat, tempat yang dia seringkali lalu tiap-tiap kali ingin pulang rumah, tapi tak pernah dikunjungi, dia keluar dan park keretanya betul-betul tepi jalan raya. Lebuhraya, lebih tepat.
Tepi sebuah tasik (dirahsiakan lokasi), dia baring di atas rumput yang separa basah dan melihat di atas. Bintang-bintang nun di atas sana seakan sedang membentuk satu senyuman dari jauh. Sangat jauh. Tapi masih kelihatan.
Dia pasang lagu Y Control kemudian menari-nari sorang-sorang sambil pejam mata. Bila dia berpusing, dia rasa macam semua perkara dalam kepalanya, segala punca kerungsingannya, dan semua memorinya hilang ditelan malam.
Tiba-tiba lagu terhenti dan memainkan ringtone yang baru. Dia mencebik sambil merungut seorang diri “Egh, kacau betul”
Dia angkat. Sambil itu tengok jam di tangan. Oh sudah pukul 12 belas rupanya.
“Kau di mana sebenarnya?”
“Tempat paling indah di dunia”
“Kau tahu, yang kami semua cari kau?”
“Mm… Jadi?”
“Datang balik ke sini”
“Tak Nak”
“Kenapa?”
“Sebab aku mahu jadi solitari sebentar, untuk mengucapkan selamat tinggal pada diri sendiri. Jadi selamat tinggal”
Dia letak telefon. Lagu Y Control berkumandang semula.
Sambil itu dia berpusing-pusing lagi sampai dia jatuh. Seeloknya biar dia jatuh tertidur, atau pengsan, atau terhantuk sesuatu, atau yang paling bagus, jatuh ke dalam tasik itu.
Malam itu, dia bermain nasib. Macam tahun-tahun sebelumnya.
Harap-harapnya malam itu, hajatnya ditunaikan.
***
This is typical of me. Ugh. Being eighteen sucks.
I should go to sleep now. It’s 3 in the morning, and I’m staying up for nothing. Perhaps it is the knowledge that most people lay peacefully in their own beds, leaving the night alive in its own darkness.
I enjoy nights like this. When you have no other obligations to do, no one to bother you, nothing to read, nothing to watch, and just stare at the ceiling, and write something, draw something, and just let loose whatever comes to you. Even sitting still seems blissful. With accompanying music, or course, if you’d like to.
But nights like this are rare. You’d have to manage to push everything aside, and clean yourself up (shower), arrange things accordingly in your room, then find a nice spot, and just. let. go.
when morning comes, reality will hit you again, majestically, presenting paradoxes, complexities, problems, affairs, it smacks you right into the face that you crumble, stumble, and break down.
but tonight, there’s only you and that shroud of darkness, that engulfs you, blanketing you from the cruel nature of reality.
tonight, you are content,
even for a while.
post script – today, i turned 18. how annoying.
can be cured when you listen to Sigur Ros.
Percayalah.
This is out of boredom and eagerness to write something before actually going on a internet hiatus (mungkin) in order to indulge reading Trainspotting (Irvine Welsh) I’m only through the first twenty pages but I kept laughing every five minutes. It’s hilarious, and sad, in many different ways. In thick Scottish accent. It’s a kinda feeling you get when you read To Kill A Mockingbird. Except that it’s about doing heroin instead of childhood innocence and scary neighbours (they’re called cunts instead)
I’m in a good mood since morning, save for my lips are a little chapped, so what the heck.
It is September after all, the month of supremacy.
***
Sometimes, I could be the largest ignorant in the world when it comes to trivial things like ironing every inch of your shirt, or whether you should write properly for a submitted homework, or why people like to fuss over different styles of wearing tudung. It puzzles me, actually. Because I couldn’t be bothered.
I don’t see the point, really, whether people would care if you’d wear green or purple, whether you’d have different hairstyles, and so on, and so forth. They’d notice, yes, but they won’t care. Even if they do, it wouldn’t last more than a minute. Or only a friendly gesture like “Oh, cool shirt dude” and you’d go thinking about it for weeks. As if you’d get a fucking medal. Naturally, I don’t give an inkling.
This may, in effect, contribute to the fact that I get bored most of the time when surrounded by a lot of normal people, in classes, and hanging out with the same people (it doesn’t matter who). But I’m trying to be more decent. Every single effing day.
Perhaps I do, actually care, you know. But I shall always regard many things as unimportant, because what matters most is the idea, and not the presentation. But of course, a presentation/action of an idea/thought, must convey the greatness of an idea, in order for people to appreciate/understand what is to be conveyed, but in that aspect, I fail miserably.
This failure of mine, in return, results in such awkwardness, tactlessness, indifference, boorishness, incoherence, sarcasm, and all that shite.
Because I know, deep in my own consciousness, that I have a real different conception on morality, that it tortures me whenever I don’t feel guilt over anything I say, do, or think. Lack of remorse, they say. There’s an actual term for it, actuallyLike the stereotypical idiom goes, as we can imply here, I “see things in a different light”. Ugh.
So when you finally care, you don’t really look like it. You end up offending people, undermining them, confuse them, make them go wtf, and whatever comes next.
I tried to write again stories. But I forgot how. Damn. Most of the things written are either self-reflections on certain things and rabble. There’s no plot, no eloquence at all I feel ashamed. I need to write more stuff.
“You know what don’t Sara? You suck at writing essays. You don’t know how to describe people, and put those words at the right time, you know? All that “heartbroken and chest-fallen and crimson blood and shadowy pale blue eyes” kinda stuff. You can’t write an essay without describing something in detail, lad. It’s sinful. People don’t get it. You don’t try to make the people figure out things in your essays, boy. It’s confusing. And most of all, Sara dear, you don’t try to go and make nonsensical stuff and suddenly jump to one thing to another without telling people. Or you just don’t stay at one place in a story. People get bored. You get that, old sport?”
“Yes, I do, my conscience. I am deeply sorry for letting you down and fail to put my best I writing superb essays that entertain and fulfill your fine taste. Lately, I have been most aware of the lack of effort and motivation to write beautiful essays, if any. I have yet to attribute this to any factors for certain, but I suspect it highly has to do with the recent events and the untimely homeworks that somewhat, put me off reading new materials, let alone write! The collection of books I have bought throughout the holidays seems to be left untouched, and have become yellowed and dusty, that I must say, has become an ornament rather than a refugee. Tell me, dear conscience, what am I to do?”
“Ah Sarah, you make me ill with all your excuses. Homework, you say? Why, have you seem to have forgotten the time when you used to ignore all of those and rather embrace the comfort of the books you have? Did you not sleep late at nights to read them, instead of scribbling notes like the others did? And you did swell at school. There’s naught to be worried for you, ain’t it? “
“But things have changed. Now, that homework precedes everything. That time you spoke of was when I was sick. Now, I am not as sick as before. I have normalized myself, and thus, my talent to interpret everything and write like a madman has long disappeared. It is lost. I am sorry but I am being more of an idiot now, and my eyes have gone blind, my ears have gone deaf, and my brain becoming dead. Tell me, dear conscience, what am I to do?”
“Ah, Sara, you put me in a dire situation. I cannot see you become like this. Do not falter. You can’t just go around everyone else and conclude “you get sadder, the smarter you get”. You’re becoming of a bore to me and I do not want to lose you to some bastards. Don’t lose hope, okay? You might suck today and tomorrow, and I’ll keep lash out at you and mock you and make you go mad, but you know what, Sara? People don’t suck everyday. You just gotta, you know, have a good night sleep and ignore everyone for a while, or hole up in a goddam room or something, and listen o some good music and you’ll wake up feeling absolutely swell. But swell.”
Written months ago.
But first, I need to read. Perlu dapatkan supply buku-buku baru. Rakan-rakan baru. Yang berpengetahuan. Bukan filem-filem baru. Bukan game-game baru. Shit, otak tak berkembang langsung di sini. I need to stop using the internet for 2 whole weeks and see how it goes. Reliance on such technological things causes my mind to go astray.
Aku mahu compile list-list buku perlu baca untuk dipesan di Kinokuniya. Siapa mahu cadangkan? Tak kisah Bahasa Melayu atau Bahasa Inggeris. Seriously. I need new books.
perkaraperkara 