i still write things that don’t make sense

all the things i’ve done

it was not embarrassment as much as it was guilt, but i guess i could not define it certainly, or rather, justifying-ly, without the head bowing low, or without a prolonged moment of self-abasement. i guess i could not really explain it.

of how many times do i keep writing the words like reconciliation and their synonyms, over the course of these years, applied on numerous occasions, different names, different places, different situations, few quite similar but never quite the same, i was never quite, say, initiated, or compelled to do so, even when it calls itself to.

why?

reconciliation is, to make peace with, to bring together with, to be content, to harmonize, to be at acceptance with whatever things, people, ideas, authority, god, etc. this, is something i was never quite good at, because eh, i don’t know. it’s no fun. to be content with something, someone, without knowing why but the fact it must be done, because that is the social convention, is a most gruesome task. perhaps you do know why, only you don’t want to. you don’t want the troubles that follows after it. perhaps it’s not much as trouble as it is burden. not to imply it is burden, but rather a blend of irritation, loathsome, waste of effort and time, and mostly, yes, guilt.

which brings us to humility. somebody should really rip me off my ego. it is not ego per se, but ego as defined as rather a sense of not wanting to belong somewhere, be it either up or down, even at the middle, that is mediocre. exalted. transcended. we want to be both the good and the bad, thereby allowing ourselves to be mocked at, but only by ourselves. being your own critic, and to receive none whatsoever from other people, calling them insignificant.

gee, how fucked up is that?

refusal

you see, i never give much thought about other people. probably because they never seem to interest me enough or anything . them and their petty affairs to attempt to do things that are somewhat meaningful to society and shit. or perhaps on a smaller scale, them giving a shit about things that would matter to their own social circle, a pathetic attempt to strive and rise to whatever which that they are aiming at.

but then you see, unlike other people, i’ve been pretty much having it easy. given the fact that i am aware that i belong at the right end of the bell curve, i never have to do much to get good grades and such, even though i hardly care about them that much. but i care enough just to get by, because it’s in my best interest to do so. deferred gratification. but that also doesn’t mean anything much to me. nothing matters.

so you see, i never belonged in this world in the first place. every day you’re losing your grip on reality, because everything solid and moving just seems to be very dream-like, unreal, artificial and shit. all i see is a labyrinth of illusions that seems to elude you to believe in something that is not real in the first place, forever guiding you into a heap of mess. and you think you have seen and done something. taking pictures just seems to prove the point some more.

this feet ain’t in the ground no more. it’s a fucked up situation, if you really want to know. i know what i’m supposed to be doing, because i am well aware of things i am capable of, what is expected of me and shit. but the only problem with it, is that i don’t feel like doing it at all. a refusal to participate into some pointless cycle of cause and effect.

a refusal to live.

lucidity

if you could just look upon the world as one fucking big dream, where everything would be so surreal, like you never really belong there in the first place, more like, forced into it and shut, everything would be a such a breeze.

because you don’t really attach yourself, to anything, to anyone, because having perceived them as ultimately unreal, a certain lucidity, you don’t really have to worry about anything. everything solid, just looks solid, because that was the way you are trained and conditioned with. but if you look real hard, and think real hard, using that intellect of yours, you’d soon find out everything else doesn’t matter much.

entangled much by worldly affairs, you need to detach yourself one by one from it, declaring you couldn’t be bothered much about this anymore. so you throw away all the crap from your room, empty out every single value you have held so dearly, leave every single person you have associated yourself with, because they seemed pale and foolish, even pathetic, in comparison. they cannot, and will not, understand, anything, and if they do, it doesn’t matter.

what you seek is not a companion that is like-minded, or some new subject to be fascinated with, or some author cum philospher that somehow speaks of things you have thought of before, or a place where you can fuck up and be miserable in your own solitude; what you only seek is a peace of mind. a moment of clarity. absolute silence, where there is nothing but an understanding of the nature of things.

but don’t risk losing your sanity, dude.

it’s all or nothing.

a truth that they can’t see

suddenly, the stuff you used to like doesn’t seem as fun anymore. the books you read don’t seem to fascinating anymore, rather they come off as whiny and pretentious. the music you loved doesn’t seem to have meaning anymore. the places you once went doesn’t seem to excite you that much either. the people you loved don’t seem to be that perfect anymore, they just seem to look annoying and pathetic.

blegh.

revelation

Any attempts made to forgive and forget and better; move on, were abandoned almost nonchalantly, almost without guilt over what happened. We leave it as it is, and make no attempts for amends and fiddle with parables and excuses, let alone give reasons and ideas to write about long lost lovers and naive young dreams in order to say unto yourself, that something did matter. Or something happened. A proof of existence.

So you would like to attribute different meanings to different events, however miniscule they might be, even a falling insect that happen to land at your feet seem to have some mystical meaning. You take every single word and sentences uttered from great poets and magicians as if they are laden with meaning and mysteries you cannot unravel, thus attach importance to them.

Allow us to reveal to you that none of it matters.

Nothing matters.

now tell me what you saw

Your take on the pitiful circumstances of human beings in general, about the suffers and losses, and empty joys that are interchangeably received and perceived; we are content of being deceived, all but you, you at your own nook, objectively observing whatever games that are being played.

Your refusal to participate; that is understandable given your heightened awareness but – why lament on all this and conclude they are irredeemably ignorant and forever doomed in their own wretchedness, and there’s naught to be done about this? Why the rejection?

One should tread upon this world loftily, with a gait like no other, a peculiar-like happiness on his face, and be able to stop once in a while, and most importantly, help those who are need, be it in terms of physical needs or spiritual needs. The former should be minimal, while the latter, should be given abundantly.

“The wise man par excellence is one who by renouncing desires of the flesh does not fall into evil, remains prepared for death every moment and collects goods that shall accompany him on the last journey unless you retire unto yourself. For nowhere with more quietness or more freedom from trouble does a man retire than into his own soul, particularly when he has within him such thoughts that by looking into them he is immediately in perfect tranquility and tranquility is nothing else than good ordering of the mind, and when he lays aside all carelessness and passionate aversion from the commands of reason and all hypocrisy and self-love, he becomes strong enough to serve the suffering humanity.”

the sound and the fury

A rant post.

Between days in that place, there are nights. Those nights are like transitional times that lasts only but a while; time is sped up, leaving only forgotten routine movements, the full blast of music until sleep is achieved.

But, in the middle of the night. In the middle of the night.

In the middle of the night, there are certain creatures who like to come out, bringing with them meat to be savaged. Beasts. Together the bring, their chant song. Stomp stomp stomp. Ruffle ruffle ruffle. Laughter Ha Ha Ha Ha. More exclamation marks. And with those exclamations, you are brought to illumination. Lights are on. Not out. You look around and see nothing but the shades and hues of worn out furniture from the fluorescent light outside your room.

Awake.

Fuck.

now is the time for liberal thought

jadi apa yang patut dilakukan adalah bungkus kesemua buku-buku kegemaran kamu waktu kamu dalam kegelapan dan kesedihan dan bawanya bersama kemana-mana sahaja kerana kadang-kadang, bila kau tiba-tiba rasa keseorangan, atau “lost”, kau boleh jumpa consolation di situ.

tak perlu lagi kau menunggu waktu berlalu sehingga kau berjumpa dengan ‘the one’ atau yang absolute, kerana menunggu itu hanya membuang masa dan harapan kau akan menggunung begitu tinggi sehingga ia jatuh dengan agungnya. kau harus teruskan hidup, dan jangan leka dengan semua hal-hal orang-orang kebanyakan. biarkan mereka dengan mereka. bukannya kau sombong, bukannya kau arrogant, bukannya kau berfikir kau lebih hebat daripada mereka, tapi sebab kau tahu, yang kau berbeza.

unsuccessful assimiliation

Day by day, you go through this world feeling absolutely no relevance with the people around you. Perhaps there is some, a weak one, but you would want to discard those because there is no use trying to reinforce something you have little interest in and make it a large part of your world. Your world consists purely of your own idealistic views, of what you should listen, what you should know, watch, and learn. Other things are tolerated, but only as a matter of fact – used in a casual conversation where you only ask and listen only to make some friendly gesture, where the next time you see them, the same questions will be asked, and you have forgotten about the answers, because you were never listening in the first place.

In this world of yours, you feel this secret need to share with people, but it is only exclusively opened to a select few ; those whom you feel would not only understand of your need, but also understand and enjoy your world. Those who would, in an instant, ask questions out of pure interest in both you and the subject. The moment they express this, you feel evoked and excited to talk; you used hand gestures, you talk in detail, and you expect more questions, because you rarely experience such things.

But what is rare, is rare.

With everyone else, you fail. So what do you do? You sit in your room, reading something, staring at the ceiling, the window, forming random mental images and circumstances inside your head, thinking what to write, what to do the next day, dwell inside you mind searching for what is missing really, ask more questions until you’re tired and fall asleep.

There is no use trying to connect with people where you don’t feel any connections with. Why make new ones? It’s too tiresome and bothersome, and you might even make a wrong one. Might as well stay quiet.

an okay award for a half-baked essay

Just received this news from my English teacher. Apparently, the results for The Royal Commonwealth Society Essay Competition I entered earlier this March are out. I got “Commended”. Ah well, at least it’s better than “Participation”. The winner for my class, was a girl from Singapore, and after her were people from Canada, and UK. So yeah, they’re all from English speaking countries. Of course la I would be shit standing next to them. But that’s actually irrelevent. Ah, abaikan. It’s my fault

My essay, was itself, boring and too weird to be understood, even by myself. So yeah, no way for anyone else to read it. But I should tell it’s mainly about depressing stuff. And psychiatry. I don’t know. It was shameful to pick a line from A Clockwork Orange, “I was cured alright”, and to even used the countdown method for each paragraph (Oh Pot I stole this idea from your Dublin essay). So haha fuck no way la korang boleh baca. It’s unoriginal as hell and makes no sense at all.

Hoho, wanna check out my name? It’s under the Commended section in the file Malaysia. Haha, I bet the examiner laughed when she/he say the name Kolej Mara Kuala Nerang. I bet he thought it was lousy. But ah, the one I’m furious about is the Kolej Mara Banting guy. Highly Commended? Argh, no way!

Anyways, I’m glad I got something for that essay, written in three days. Good enough for that half-assed effort of mine. Got even grammar mistakes maa… ah well, I’m entering again next year. Next year, bolehlah dapatkan hadiah. Mari cuba lagi.