To borrow a line from Donnie Darko's 'Mad World', I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad. That I have to skip school to study. That's rich. It's not that I sleep extra or anything by not going to school, I actually leave home at around the same time. And I'm doing it again in a few hours. School is just so drab, I spend my time in class wishing for breaks and my breaks doing nothing. It ends in my time in school being absolutely futile. Oh and I heard Mad World on the radio but not the Gary Jules' version, unfortunately.
Anyway there I went again, being rude to my dad. It irks me that I know about it yet cannot (or refuse to) change my behavior. I know when I'm being unnecessarily irritated, I just can't seem to stop myself. I don't want to have a fraught relationship with my dad, like some angsty teenager would.
On the subject of family, I realize that I really would not want any of them to read my blog. No matter that I might be pretty close to both my brother and sister, I wouldn't want them reading this. I dunno why but I think it'd be quite weird. It's probably the same rationale my brother uses for not adding either me or my sister on facebook. A modicum of privacy from people you've spent all your life with or something, I dunno. But no matter how my sister pesters me, I'm not telling her.
My mom returned from malacca and I'm delighted for her that she managed to spend time away from work and enjoy herself with her colleagues. It's been a while since the days of my rebellious youth where everyday was spent battling against the parental forces I felt were trying to rein me in. I'd like to think I'm beginning to appreciate my parents a little bit more.
Oh yeah I'm not reading any more books till the end of A's. It's a (joking) promise I made to my CT but I decided I'm gonna honor it since it's gonna work out for my own good. Unfortunately this means no more Neil Gaiman, given that I've rediscovered an appetite for his particular brand of fiction. Ah, woe is me.
And it seems alot of people are falling ill. An epidemic of stress-related sicknesses seem to have hit our shores. Despite my unwillingness to conform to the standard all-work-no-play model student that seems to be such a hit these days, I do feel sick myself. Actually I just wanna fabricate my story in advance, for when I wake up late tomorrow morning and get owned by my dad.
Somehow it has been so deeply ingrained, the notion that we need to obtain this piece of paper for us to be a success. Our education system works us like slaves and we willingly go through such hellish treatment in the pursuit of a Degree. It's like the magik word, you need it to succeed in life, to get a job, to live happily ever after. And failing to achieve it we are branded losers. It's been branded onto our minds, that we have to pass every test, or we are inferior beings. I just think it's idiotic how we are made to strive so hard to study things so irrelevant to our lives. I am increasingly finding it pointless, even as I make further effort to actually study.
I tried to dota just now. But the host kept kicking me cause I denied him like mad in the previous game. Freak la. I can't even enjoy life when I want to. And I'm starving like one dog. It's 2.35 am and I have no intention of making myself something to eat. I'll pilfer something from somewhere. Well don't have much else to say. Dota time.
Thursday 30 July 2009
Wednesday 22 July 2009
This Is Finally Happening.
This is supposedly typical of pre-june me. Skipping school, staying at home and playing dota. Unfortunately, it's after june and here I am. It appears old habits do die hard. I realized that (other than the 2 previous posts) my recent posts all seem rather contrived. Like it's someone else on the keyboard. I don't know why, maybe it was me trying to appear like someone I'm not. And so I've decided, never again. If I'm going to blog, I'm gonna do it on my own terms. I'll disregard whoever is reading it. While aware that there might be someone out there reading it i.e no deepest darkest secrets and the like, I shall in no way attempt to address that someone. I will blog what I want, how I want it. If someone wishes to pass judgement on me, so be it. And I realize that a tagboard is somewhat at odds with that, so I'm done with it.
Yesterday was an odd day. I was all out of sorts, right from the get go. It seemed like I slept with my head in the clouds, thunderclouds. I woke up feeling pissed off, which is sort of retarded. I believe I was actually frowning upon waking up. That frown was sustained all the way till I reached school. I don't know what it takes for someone to frown for an hour.
So yeah, an unusual start to an unusual day. My behaviour was odd, like someone was assuming my skin. Ate away my memories, my experiences, and wearing my skin for a lark. (Troll Bridge, Neil Gaiman) And well I couldn't listen in class, I kept thinking that studying is so pointless, which it is, but that's a pointless thought itself. Anyway, yesterday I wasn't really myself. Being very uncharacteristic.
Yesterday I was entertaining thoughts on how and why I'm single. The why. My textbook, smooth answer to people who ask is, I don't want to be distracted. But honestly, that's flimsy. It's not like I'm studying in my spare time. Or doing anything worthwhile. Being single is not a predicament, it's a choice. One that I made while I was oh so mature at sec 1. My reasons then was studying. (Not that I did, not at all) But it's a choice I've stuck with since then. There have been times I have doubted that choice. There will be more. And the reason I give is the same, with the minor problem that it's not true anymore. It's evasion. Sometimes now, I think it's fear. Plain, ignoble cowardice. Fear of confronting my own feelings, perhaps. Fear of rejection, perhaps. The (maybe) baseless fear of being wrong, and humiliated. Fear of being shamed. That's just lowly. The inability to confront your fears. To face up to them and say, no, I will not live in the shadow of my fears.
Somewhere along the way, I thought myself so very noble. That I would by no means exploit the vulnerabilities of someone who was feeling down and out. That I wouldn't take advantage of the fact that she was looking for someone to lean on. I was so chivalrous. I was no worm, sidling up to her side, worming my way into her affection. But maybe it was just my fear throwing up excuses. Glib excuses my brain would accept.
Somewhere along the way I felt superior. That maybe hey, I'm a better man than you because I refuse to succumb to temptation. That you know, I am stronger willed. Where's the will in running away? But I felt oh so superior. I did not give in to the innate desire for intimacy. Stupid, stupid. I console myself, that no, I'm waiting for the One. Only the One will suffice. Of course, ideally that would be the case. But that's pretty naive, and even to my ears not a convincing enough reason.
Anyway that's about all I've got to say. To admit to myself that I don't dare. To rue what could have been. To acknowledge that my actions, they're based on fear not indifference.
Apparently when your muscles are sore, it's cause of micro tears or something. Caused by a lack of use. I am feeling terribly lousy, despite only a bit of touch rugby yesterday. But I'll be making my way down to training in a while. My legs are like cement laden, been ages since the last time they were worked. But I hope I'll finally be able to tackle someone again. Or burn them. It's been a while.
I have been quite snippy recently. Sudden spikes of annoyance and irritation, happening alot lately. Actually, maybe I've always been like that, just that it's only now that I realize it. Alot of it is directed at my dad. I really don't know why. There's just something in the way he says things that gets my hackles up. Like his version of caring is one that rubs me up the wrong way. It doesn't make for a pretty sight. Objectively, he's not doing anything wrong. I know I'm an ass, it's just that I feel so irritated I'm convinced he's in the wrong. Every single time. I don't know how that affects him. That his son is irked by his every other sentence. It would suck to be in his shoes. But I just can't seem to help it. Telling, huh. Another incident was when I scolded my brother within 5 minutes of entering Ocean Park, while we were in HK. While I still feel it was justified, I could have potentially ruined what was mean to be a great time together. I don't know why I snapped like that. It's not right. I can't be on the verge of bad temper everytime.
Oh yeah I watched the eclipse on channel 8 just now. It's 100% covered over in china, from what I could glean. Supposedly it's only a 10% difference in brightness over here in sunny singapore. My decision to pon school was so timely, coinciding with such a significant event.
It's high time I left home. There's people to injure and people to face off, hey-hey.
On a side-note, I've decided that a blog is a sanctum for one's thoughts. Like it was originally supposed to be, a diary. You put down your thoughts in the knowledge that someone might chance upon it, and if someone asks to read that diary, you would not begrudge him it. If someone sees your bag and decides to read through your diary, you wouldn't mind. That's what a blog is, to me. And of course if you don't like what you read, that's only too bad. You read a book of the shelf and if you don't like it, that's no fault of the author now, is it?
Well time to go. ta-ta.
Yesterday was an odd day. I was all out of sorts, right from the get go. It seemed like I slept with my head in the clouds, thunderclouds. I woke up feeling pissed off, which is sort of retarded. I believe I was actually frowning upon waking up. That frown was sustained all the way till I reached school. I don't know what it takes for someone to frown for an hour.
So yeah, an unusual start to an unusual day. My behaviour was odd, like someone was assuming my skin. Ate away my memories, my experiences, and wearing my skin for a lark. (Troll Bridge, Neil Gaiman) And well I couldn't listen in class, I kept thinking that studying is so pointless, which it is, but that's a pointless thought itself. Anyway, yesterday I wasn't really myself. Being very uncharacteristic.
Yesterday I was entertaining thoughts on how and why I'm single. The why. My textbook, smooth answer to people who ask is, I don't want to be distracted. But honestly, that's flimsy. It's not like I'm studying in my spare time. Or doing anything worthwhile. Being single is not a predicament, it's a choice. One that I made while I was oh so mature at sec 1. My reasons then was studying. (Not that I did, not at all) But it's a choice I've stuck with since then. There have been times I have doubted that choice. There will be more. And the reason I give is the same, with the minor problem that it's not true anymore. It's evasion. Sometimes now, I think it's fear. Plain, ignoble cowardice. Fear of confronting my own feelings, perhaps. Fear of rejection, perhaps. The (maybe) baseless fear of being wrong, and humiliated. Fear of being shamed. That's just lowly. The inability to confront your fears. To face up to them and say, no, I will not live in the shadow of my fears.
Somewhere along the way, I thought myself so very noble. That I would by no means exploit the vulnerabilities of someone who was feeling down and out. That I wouldn't take advantage of the fact that she was looking for someone to lean on. I was so chivalrous. I was no worm, sidling up to her side, worming my way into her affection. But maybe it was just my fear throwing up excuses. Glib excuses my brain would accept.
Somewhere along the way I felt superior. That maybe hey, I'm a better man than you because I refuse to succumb to temptation. That you know, I am stronger willed. Where's the will in running away? But I felt oh so superior. I did not give in to the innate desire for intimacy. Stupid, stupid. I console myself, that no, I'm waiting for the One. Only the One will suffice. Of course, ideally that would be the case. But that's pretty naive, and even to my ears not a convincing enough reason.
Anyway that's about all I've got to say. To admit to myself that I don't dare. To rue what could have been. To acknowledge that my actions, they're based on fear not indifference.
Apparently when your muscles are sore, it's cause of micro tears or something. Caused by a lack of use. I am feeling terribly lousy, despite only a bit of touch rugby yesterday. But I'll be making my way down to training in a while. My legs are like cement laden, been ages since the last time they were worked. But I hope I'll finally be able to tackle someone again. Or burn them. It's been a while.
I have been quite snippy recently. Sudden spikes of annoyance and irritation, happening alot lately. Actually, maybe I've always been like that, just that it's only now that I realize it. Alot of it is directed at my dad. I really don't know why. There's just something in the way he says things that gets my hackles up. Like his version of caring is one that rubs me up the wrong way. It doesn't make for a pretty sight. Objectively, he's not doing anything wrong. I know I'm an ass, it's just that I feel so irritated I'm convinced he's in the wrong. Every single time. I don't know how that affects him. That his son is irked by his every other sentence. It would suck to be in his shoes. But I just can't seem to help it. Telling, huh. Another incident was when I scolded my brother within 5 minutes of entering Ocean Park, while we were in HK. While I still feel it was justified, I could have potentially ruined what was mean to be a great time together. I don't know why I snapped like that. It's not right. I can't be on the verge of bad temper everytime.
Oh yeah I watched the eclipse on channel 8 just now. It's 100% covered over in china, from what I could glean. Supposedly it's only a 10% difference in brightness over here in sunny singapore. My decision to pon school was so timely, coinciding with such a significant event.
It's high time I left home. There's people to injure and people to face off, hey-hey.
On a side-note, I've decided that a blog is a sanctum for one's thoughts. Like it was originally supposed to be, a diary. You put down your thoughts in the knowledge that someone might chance upon it, and if someone asks to read that diary, you would not begrudge him it. If someone sees your bag and decides to read through your diary, you wouldn't mind. That's what a blog is, to me. And of course if you don't like what you read, that's only too bad. You read a book of the shelf and if you don't like it, that's no fault of the author now, is it?
Well time to go. ta-ta.
Tuesday 21 July 2009
Movie Magik.
I can't sleep still. And while I was taking a dump just now I was thinking about movies. There's this line in some book I can't remember about that acute sense of awkwardness in the movies. The one that the narrator felt when he watched a kissing scene in a movie with a good (girl) friend of his.
I don't know why but I thought it was from the Kite Runner, which doesn't make sense cause of the nature of the central relationship the book is built on. Probably the image of watching movies in books made me think of the boys watching the westerns in the book. And now I can't figure out what book it was from. It probably followed some cliche about how after the movie the guy or the girl then takes the hand of the other person so naturally and how they live happily ever after. Together.
Stupid cliche, really. That does not happen, not for me. The awkwardness, very much true. Trying to look like you're totally engrossed in the movie. Trying not to sneak glances at her. Trying not to be noticed then you do. And the worst part is, it drags on forever. Seriously. Mouth increasingly dry. Hard swallows. No movement. For the duration of the kiss. No popcorn, no drinks. Or of course, feigned nonchalance. Lounging deeper into the chair. Languid sips of the drink. An attempt to ignore the palpable tension in the air. Weak attempt at humour during or after the kiss (at the next even slightly humorous scene). Accelerated heart rate.
Okay I was wrong, seriously the worst part was not knowing if she went through the same torture. Who knows? Maybe it's just another scene to her. You think it's both of you suffering, but maybe she didn't. That not knowing sucks. Back on track, the awkwardness I agree with. It's the aftermath that's stupid. It doesn't work that way. Real life isn't a story.
Or is it?
I don't know why but I thought it was from the Kite Runner, which doesn't make sense cause of the nature of the central relationship the book is built on. Probably the image of watching movies in books made me think of the boys watching the westerns in the book. And now I can't figure out what book it was from. It probably followed some cliche about how after the movie the guy or the girl then takes the hand of the other person so naturally and how they live happily ever after. Together.
Stupid cliche, really. That does not happen, not for me. The awkwardness, very much true. Trying to look like you're totally engrossed in the movie. Trying not to sneak glances at her. Trying not to be noticed then you do. And the worst part is, it drags on forever. Seriously. Mouth increasingly dry. Hard swallows. No movement. For the duration of the kiss. No popcorn, no drinks. Or of course, feigned nonchalance. Lounging deeper into the chair. Languid sips of the drink. An attempt to ignore the palpable tension in the air. Weak attempt at humour during or after the kiss (at the next even slightly humorous scene). Accelerated heart rate.
Okay I was wrong, seriously the worst part was not knowing if she went through the same torture. Who knows? Maybe it's just another scene to her. You think it's both of you suffering, but maybe she didn't. That not knowing sucks. Back on track, the awkwardness I agree with. It's the aftermath that's stupid. It doesn't work that way. Real life isn't a story.
Or is it?
Life, To What End?
I was having trouble sleeping cause I was feeling troubled. I was lying down and being plagued by weird musings. Might be my skipping dinner (uncharacteristic, as is my desire to sleep at 11.30). Anyway, I wanted to sleep. Still want to actually, but not really. I rather feel like putting my thoughts down, before they all get lost in the humdrum of everyday life. Even now I can feel my train of thought slipping away, maybe forever, maybe not. The mundane things in life like switching on the comp, making sure my brother doesn't get woken up by me, putting my shirt in the laundry basket, scanning the newspaper headlines. They bury those thoughts. I don't like that, or maybe I do. I don't know.
Anyways, here goes. I've always thought that I'd be completely satisfied by a very normal life, lived out in happiness and content. Of course, in my imaginations my job would be perfect, wife loving, kids (any number up to my perfect wife) but otherwise very normal. But then, to what end? What's the point? And is that really how I'd like to live out my life? Normalcy? Or do I really want to live a life of recklessness, fearlessness, doing things spontaneously, a lifestyle so exciting, like those you can only read of? And even then, to what end? What exactly is the point? Is a fulfilling life one that you are remembered? That you are loved? That you've made a mark on the world? Entered the history books? Leaving behind something lasting for your children, and their children, and their children? Honestly, I have no idea. It's probably very much up to one's own definition. And for myself, I don't know. How would you know what you'd be happier doing? Trial and error? Try something, maybe you love it. But some things grow on you, don't they? So is a fulfilling life one that you are the happiest that you can have been, one that you've made all the right, happy choices?
I'd like to think of myself as someone who come what may, accepts a situation and is content with whatever I have. What does that say about me though? That I'm an unexciting, dull person, content with whatever scraps life throws at me? And even so, so what? Does it matter if I really am dull and whatevernot, as long as I'm happy? I don't know. And even now I can feel myself forgetting what I was thinking just now. Was this what I meant to write in the first place?
I think at myself (not to myself, there's a difference) that I would (or should) be happy with a stable life. But I also think that my life is going to turn out perfect. That's just stupid isn't it? Is it myself trying to convince myself to accept normalcy? Or is it really what I feel, the secret voice of my heart telling me what it has always known? But whichever the case, if in the end I'm a happy person, does it matter what I started of as? I don't know, is there a point whether you've in some sense "betrayed" your inner self? The apostrophes present because, how can you betray yourself if it's you telling you something for the truth? Is there no such thing as a true inner self, just one that has been shaped by the years, by experience? Does it make a difference?
What's the point of all these questions that my mind has flung at me? Is there one at all? I have no idea. Is it me trying to seek out some deeper meaning in life, some abstract mumbling designed to make me look smart, or? What's the point? Of these questions I have. Of life? Is there one? You know, charity work and the likes, helping people around you, helping people you don't know, striving for (insert ideal), all this, what's the point? Alright, staring at the screen does not promote philosophical musings, so I'll try my darnedest to be at least a little coherent. Yes, you make an impact on those the vagaries of fate have left in the lurch. You make their lives that much better, permanently or temporarily, depending on what you do for them. Which begs the question, so? Does that really fulfill you? Or are you conditioned to feel fulfillment upon doing good? And again, so? So what if it's the propagation of the notion that "do good=feel good" that makes you feel good? At the end of it all, you do feel good right? Isn't that the end game? Or not? Does it matter if the good we're feeling is all based on what society dictates to us should make us feel good? Is it not good, even so? It's like being scammed into being happy, why should you refuse, if at the end of it all you're still happy, right? Or no? Up to you, I'm not ready to answer these questions to myself just yet.
I'm not sure, am I trying to drive home some point here? That you know, maybe there is no point to life. That we could just get it over and done with, in the hope of either an eternal, enjoyable afterlife, or just plain simple nothingness? I firmly place my faith in the former, let there be no doubt. I know it to be true. These sentences in no way indicates my waning desire for life, to live life. Does it matter if there's no point to life? Since we have it, we might as well enjoy it. It's like watching a horror movie, does it matter that it's pointless? No, you don't just close your eyes and hope for it to end soon (I'm speaking generally, some people probably do), you watch it and enjoy it (inasmuch as that's possible) regardless of what is achieved, no? I intend to lead a happy life, however long it's meant to be (what kind of life I don't know yet, reckless/dull, whatever, maybe I have no say in it whatsoever, does it matter?).
Which springs this, what of destiny? The belief in destiny. If you believe in it, does that then mean that whatever choice you make in whatever thing, does not make a difference at all? Since everything is predestined. Does that mean that there's a choice that calls out to you everytime you have to make one, that is the "right" one? That if you don't heed it, you are then no longer bound by destiny? Or does everyone have an infinity of destinies? Does that not then destroy the very meaning of the word? And those who don't believe, are not their lives then ruled by no higher order, but chaos? Are you comfortable with that? That your life is subject to all sorts of randomness, which by it's very nature has no rules, no regard for who you are? Doesn't that make you feel insignificant? Do you feel safe in the knowledge that you are governed by chance? That by it's capricious nature, there could be nothing but destruction in your life? No benign entity to limit and reverse the damage?
I feel that you know, those die-hard atheists, well, they're probably not very happy people. Maybe their firm belief in no gods, no deities, "empowers" them to seek temporal pleasure with relish. If there's no afterlife, it doesn't matter does it? Doing good, doing bad. No difference, as long as I myself am happy. I think that's sad. You submit yourself to the belief that you're nothing but a reaction that produced different results (the big bang, if you will), that there's nothing unique about us, that there could be an infinity of other peopled planets out there. How can you feel nothing but insignificant? The super logical say, yes, that's the truth. We are in fact insignificant. For what are we but a bunch of atoms floating around in our vast universe? Signifcantly different from the rocks, maybe, but there could be a plethora of other us-es out there. We're nothing, a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. I'd feel worthless, if I thought that. And what would I do? Derive the greatest pleasure in the quickest time, for as long as I can fully experience that satisfaction, contentment, happiness, whatever. The life of someone who doesn't give a damn. Which sucks, for the people around him, for how can you live with someone who honestly doesn't give two hoots?
I'm not sure why these comments have crept in. It's nowhere near what I was originally thinking. Anyway, I do believe in destiny, whatever that entails. I am not normally given to such musings on how it functions and whether it makes sense, so I'm normally quite the happy idiot.
Anyway, I don't know who reads this and I don't care. I'm not sure why but it's just something I had the urge to write down, so that it does not get lost in the sands of time. How much time in a day do you have to think. Really think? It sometimes occurs to me that I could live life without thinking, not much. How long has it been since you've really, really thought about something that matters? Or something that doesn't, it doesn't matter.
I don't include exams and tests and other such stuff, cause I do honestly feel it's all futile. Does anyone care about what they learn? Only what they score for it, most of the time. And right at this moment, it all seems so useless. But truth is, tomorrow I'm going to school, and going to learn what ten thousand other kids are learning, in an effort to beat them. That's what education is all about, in the end. And whatever I feel about it, I'm still going to try my best for the As, cause this system is so all-encompassing. You just can't beat it. A disgruntled cog maybe, but still one of millions in a well-oiled system. Which brooks no failures.
Digression, again. Not really, cause it's real sentiments, which is what blogs are all about, or what they should be about. It pleases me to write down what I think. If it pleases you to read it, you're welcome, it's been a pleasure. If it doesn't, well, I'm sorry for you that you had to trawl through hundreds of words. I'm not sorry, it's your fault for reading, not mine for writing. If what I've said connects somehow, I very much hope you have at least an inkling of your own answers to those questions. Cause I don't, and it bothers me. It bothers me that I have no idea. But I'm not going to spend the rest of my life pondering over this post, cause that's plain stupid. Does it matter that I have no idea?
Enough with the questions, I'm beginning to doubt myself and my coherence. My questions might not even make sense at all. I don't know. On a sidenote, writing everything down does not seem to appease my mind. I'm still feeling plagued by a sense of troubledness, except that there are no specific thoughts which are causing it. Just this general sense of being troubled. Wts.
Oh I've also noticed how many "I don't know"s and the like all over. Does this not point to the wonders of the mysteries of life? It also occurs to me that some of my thoughts at the beginning are quite disconnected. I apologize.
Anyways, here goes. I've always thought that I'd be completely satisfied by a very normal life, lived out in happiness and content. Of course, in my imaginations my job would be perfect, wife loving, kids (any number up to my perfect wife) but otherwise very normal. But then, to what end? What's the point? And is that really how I'd like to live out my life? Normalcy? Or do I really want to live a life of recklessness, fearlessness, doing things spontaneously, a lifestyle so exciting, like those you can only read of? And even then, to what end? What exactly is the point? Is a fulfilling life one that you are remembered? That you are loved? That you've made a mark on the world? Entered the history books? Leaving behind something lasting for your children, and their children, and their children? Honestly, I have no idea. It's probably very much up to one's own definition. And for myself, I don't know. How would you know what you'd be happier doing? Trial and error? Try something, maybe you love it. But some things grow on you, don't they? So is a fulfilling life one that you are the happiest that you can have been, one that you've made all the right, happy choices?
I'd like to think of myself as someone who come what may, accepts a situation and is content with whatever I have. What does that say about me though? That I'm an unexciting, dull person, content with whatever scraps life throws at me? And even so, so what? Does it matter if I really am dull and whatevernot, as long as I'm happy? I don't know. And even now I can feel myself forgetting what I was thinking just now. Was this what I meant to write in the first place?
I think at myself (not to myself, there's a difference) that I would (or should) be happy with a stable life. But I also think that my life is going to turn out perfect. That's just stupid isn't it? Is it myself trying to convince myself to accept normalcy? Or is it really what I feel, the secret voice of my heart telling me what it has always known? But whichever the case, if in the end I'm a happy person, does it matter what I started of as? I don't know, is there a point whether you've in some sense "betrayed" your inner self? The apostrophes present because, how can you betray yourself if it's you telling you something for the truth? Is there no such thing as a true inner self, just one that has been shaped by the years, by experience? Does it make a difference?
What's the point of all these questions that my mind has flung at me? Is there one at all? I have no idea. Is it me trying to seek out some deeper meaning in life, some abstract mumbling designed to make me look smart, or? What's the point? Of these questions I have. Of life? Is there one? You know, charity work and the likes, helping people around you, helping people you don't know, striving for (insert ideal), all this, what's the point? Alright, staring at the screen does not promote philosophical musings, so I'll try my darnedest to be at least a little coherent. Yes, you make an impact on those the vagaries of fate have left in the lurch. You make their lives that much better, permanently or temporarily, depending on what you do for them. Which begs the question, so? Does that really fulfill you? Or are you conditioned to feel fulfillment upon doing good? And again, so? So what if it's the propagation of the notion that "do good=feel good" that makes you feel good? At the end of it all, you do feel good right? Isn't that the end game? Or not? Does it matter if the good we're feeling is all based on what society dictates to us should make us feel good? Is it not good, even so? It's like being scammed into being happy, why should you refuse, if at the end of it all you're still happy, right? Or no? Up to you, I'm not ready to answer these questions to myself just yet.
I'm not sure, am I trying to drive home some point here? That you know, maybe there is no point to life. That we could just get it over and done with, in the hope of either an eternal, enjoyable afterlife, or just plain simple nothingness? I firmly place my faith in the former, let there be no doubt. I know it to be true. These sentences in no way indicates my waning desire for life, to live life. Does it matter if there's no point to life? Since we have it, we might as well enjoy it. It's like watching a horror movie, does it matter that it's pointless? No, you don't just close your eyes and hope for it to end soon (I'm speaking generally, some people probably do), you watch it and enjoy it (inasmuch as that's possible) regardless of what is achieved, no? I intend to lead a happy life, however long it's meant to be (what kind of life I don't know yet, reckless/dull, whatever, maybe I have no say in it whatsoever, does it matter?).
Which springs this, what of destiny? The belief in destiny. If you believe in it, does that then mean that whatever choice you make in whatever thing, does not make a difference at all? Since everything is predestined. Does that mean that there's a choice that calls out to you everytime you have to make one, that is the "right" one? That if you don't heed it, you are then no longer bound by destiny? Or does everyone have an infinity of destinies? Does that not then destroy the very meaning of the word? And those who don't believe, are not their lives then ruled by no higher order, but chaos? Are you comfortable with that? That your life is subject to all sorts of randomness, which by it's very nature has no rules, no regard for who you are? Doesn't that make you feel insignificant? Do you feel safe in the knowledge that you are governed by chance? That by it's capricious nature, there could be nothing but destruction in your life? No benign entity to limit and reverse the damage?
I feel that you know, those die-hard atheists, well, they're probably not very happy people. Maybe their firm belief in no gods, no deities, "empowers" them to seek temporal pleasure with relish. If there's no afterlife, it doesn't matter does it? Doing good, doing bad. No difference, as long as I myself am happy. I think that's sad. You submit yourself to the belief that you're nothing but a reaction that produced different results (the big bang, if you will), that there's nothing unique about us, that there could be an infinity of other peopled planets out there. How can you feel nothing but insignificant? The super logical say, yes, that's the truth. We are in fact insignificant. For what are we but a bunch of atoms floating around in our vast universe? Signifcantly different from the rocks, maybe, but there could be a plethora of other us-es out there. We're nothing, a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. I'd feel worthless, if I thought that. And what would I do? Derive the greatest pleasure in the quickest time, for as long as I can fully experience that satisfaction, contentment, happiness, whatever. The life of someone who doesn't give a damn. Which sucks, for the people around him, for how can you live with someone who honestly doesn't give two hoots?
I'm not sure why these comments have crept in. It's nowhere near what I was originally thinking. Anyway, I do believe in destiny, whatever that entails. I am not normally given to such musings on how it functions and whether it makes sense, so I'm normally quite the happy idiot.
Anyway, I don't know who reads this and I don't care. I'm not sure why but it's just something I had the urge to write down, so that it does not get lost in the sands of time. How much time in a day do you have to think. Really think? It sometimes occurs to me that I could live life without thinking, not much. How long has it been since you've really, really thought about something that matters? Or something that doesn't, it doesn't matter.
I don't include exams and tests and other such stuff, cause I do honestly feel it's all futile. Does anyone care about what they learn? Only what they score for it, most of the time. And right at this moment, it all seems so useless. But truth is, tomorrow I'm going to school, and going to learn what ten thousand other kids are learning, in an effort to beat them. That's what education is all about, in the end. And whatever I feel about it, I'm still going to try my best for the As, cause this system is so all-encompassing. You just can't beat it. A disgruntled cog maybe, but still one of millions in a well-oiled system. Which brooks no failures.
Digression, again. Not really, cause it's real sentiments, which is what blogs are all about, or what they should be about. It pleases me to write down what I think. If it pleases you to read it, you're welcome, it's been a pleasure. If it doesn't, well, I'm sorry for you that you had to trawl through hundreds of words. I'm not sorry, it's your fault for reading, not mine for writing. If what I've said connects somehow, I very much hope you have at least an inkling of your own answers to those questions. Cause I don't, and it bothers me. It bothers me that I have no idea. But I'm not going to spend the rest of my life pondering over this post, cause that's plain stupid. Does it matter that I have no idea?
Enough with the questions, I'm beginning to doubt myself and my coherence. My questions might not even make sense at all. I don't know. On a sidenote, writing everything down does not seem to appease my mind. I'm still feeling plagued by a sense of troubledness, except that there are no specific thoughts which are causing it. Just this general sense of being troubled. Wts.
Oh I've also noticed how many "I don't know"s and the like all over. Does this not point to the wonders of the mysteries of life? It also occurs to me that some of my thoughts at the beginning are quite disconnected. I apologize.
Friday 10 July 2009
Many Funerals.
The Tears Shed Into Pillows Deep Into The Night
As a child we were told horror stories, really nasty terrible stories of what'd happen if we did bad things. The dam would break and all the sorrows of the real world would wash over us.
But it was not our fault. That the dam finally broke from the crush of all the tears shed into pillows deep into the night. The dam-makers, they did not predict the sheer volume of grief in the real world. 10 feet thick, they built, 10 feet of solid wall against the despair the real world conjured up on a nightly basis. But it cracked, it shattered.
What is this, you ask. Who are we. We are who we are, the people of the tears shed into pillows deep into the night. Collecting every tear shed by weeping bawling mourning people crying themselves to sleep. By long, long tubes underneath the pillows of the people of the real world.
A lot of tubes, really. And a lot more tears then you'd expect, from people you don't expect. All pooling into our world. My world. And as a child gazing into all those tears, I think "What a sad, sad world."
And as I am now, awash in tears, each tear a story unto itself. The anguish of a newly orphaned boy. The bereavement of a widow. The heartbreak of a sweet lass just turned 16. The lament of a grieving father. The despair. The agony.
And still, still, they come trickling down.
I read this paragraph once of this reservoir of tears. It was very good (my story hardly does it justice). Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close the title of the book. Anyways I've been re-reading Robert Jordan lately, just borrowed the 11th one. Been such that I've not had time to blog at all, what with studying (which interestingly does not take up that much of my time) going out, reading, watching my TV series (Bones, House) and general merry-making. Not that I've had the urge to blog. I think there's something about an audience. I'm not an audience person. How can a blog be an accurate chronicle of ones life if it is subject to scrutiny from one's peers? Inadvertently you'd leave something out, scathing remarks of your friends, your DDS (deepest darkest secrets) et cetera. Or maybe it's just a place for funny anecdotes and quirky information about the person trying to convince you he's unique.
Does it matter, really? Neil Gaiman. He is the master, man. A master storyteller the likes of which the world has not seen in the past 5000 years. After the joys of the Graveyard Book and American Gods, I stumbled upon a collection of short stories in the form of Fragile Things on one of my routine visits to WM library. Whimsical, bizzare, fantastical stories, sometimes even all at once. I haven't read Stardust, which I also haven't watched because I thought the female lead wasn't pretty :/
Got some of the results back. Not pretty. Consolation in the form of an A for GP, entirely unexpected. That's too mild a word. Shock might be better. But yes, miracles do happen and we move on. Moving on to failed chemistry, almost definitely failed physics, haven't-gotten-back-yet-but-could-have-been-better-maths. That about wraps up the common test. Big despondent sigh. HAIIIIIIIIIYA. Wonder what it'll take to motivate me.
Oh yeah, I recall watching a few movies lately. Drag Me To Hell definitely takes top spot. Intense. That's the show in a nutshell. Intensely funny (goat capering around haha) and intensely intense. I've never been so stressed in the theatres before. I'm putting my manhood on the line and stating that I was squirming through half the movie. Red Cliff at long last, albeit only on the little tiny screen on the plane. Watchmen, also on the plane. I intend to watch Duplicity, apparently it has good dialogue which is totally my thang. Public Enemies I confirm plus chop must watch, as soon as it comes out. Simply put, it's Johnny Depp. Then there's Christian Bale. My word. In terms of acting chops it's like putting chicken chop pork chop and lamb chop together.
Oh right, not 30 minutes past, I did my part for charity in the form of $10 in cookies. I do hope I'm not going to be scammed/ripped-off TOO badly. Never struck myself as being charitable.
I'm going to dota now.
"In bed that night I invented a special drain that would be underneath every pillow in New York and would connect to the reservoir. Whenever people cried themselves to sleep, the tears would all go into the same place, and in the morning the weatherman could report if the water level of the Reservoir of Tears had gone up or down, and you could know if New York was in heavy boots. And when something really terrible happened - like a nuclear bomb, or at least a biological weapons attack - an extremely loud siren would go off, telling everyone to get to Central Park to put sandbags around the reservoir."
-Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
As a child we were told horror stories, really nasty terrible stories of what'd happen if we did bad things. The dam would break and all the sorrows of the real world would wash over us.
But it was not our fault. That the dam finally broke from the crush of all the tears shed into pillows deep into the night. The dam-makers, they did not predict the sheer volume of grief in the real world. 10 feet thick, they built, 10 feet of solid wall against the despair the real world conjured up on a nightly basis. But it cracked, it shattered.
What is this, you ask. Who are we. We are who we are, the people of the tears shed into pillows deep into the night. Collecting every tear shed by weeping bawling mourning people crying themselves to sleep. By long, long tubes underneath the pillows of the people of the real world.
A lot of tubes, really. And a lot more tears then you'd expect, from people you don't expect. All pooling into our world. My world. And as a child gazing into all those tears, I think "What a sad, sad world."
And as I am now, awash in tears, each tear a story unto itself. The anguish of a newly orphaned boy. The bereavement of a widow. The heartbreak of a sweet lass just turned 16. The lament of a grieving father. The despair. The agony.
And still, still, they come trickling down.
I read this paragraph once of this reservoir of tears. It was very good (my story hardly does it justice). Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close the title of the book. Anyways I've been re-reading Robert Jordan lately, just borrowed the 11th one. Been such that I've not had time to blog at all, what with studying (which interestingly does not take up that much of my time) going out, reading, watching my TV series (Bones, House) and general merry-making. Not that I've had the urge to blog. I think there's something about an audience. I'm not an audience person. How can a blog be an accurate chronicle of ones life if it is subject to scrutiny from one's peers? Inadvertently you'd leave something out, scathing remarks of your friends, your DDS (deepest darkest secrets) et cetera. Or maybe it's just a place for funny anecdotes and quirky information about the person trying to convince you he's unique.
Does it matter, really? Neil Gaiman. He is the master, man. A master storyteller the likes of which the world has not seen in the past 5000 years. After the joys of the Graveyard Book and American Gods, I stumbled upon a collection of short stories in the form of Fragile Things on one of my routine visits to WM library. Whimsical, bizzare, fantastical stories, sometimes even all at once. I haven't read Stardust, which I also haven't watched because I thought the female lead wasn't pretty :/
Got some of the results back. Not pretty. Consolation in the form of an A for GP, entirely unexpected. That's too mild a word. Shock might be better. But yes, miracles do happen and we move on. Moving on to failed chemistry, almost definitely failed physics, haven't-gotten-back-yet-but-could-have-been-better-maths. That about wraps up the common test. Big despondent sigh. HAIIIIIIIIIYA. Wonder what it'll take to motivate me.
Oh yeah, I recall watching a few movies lately. Drag Me To Hell definitely takes top spot. Intense. That's the show in a nutshell. Intensely funny (goat capering around haha) and intensely intense. I've never been so stressed in the theatres before. I'm putting my manhood on the line and stating that I was squirming through half the movie. Red Cliff at long last, albeit only on the little tiny screen on the plane. Watchmen, also on the plane. I intend to watch Duplicity, apparently it has good dialogue which is totally my thang. Public Enemies I confirm plus chop must watch, as soon as it comes out. Simply put, it's Johnny Depp. Then there's Christian Bale. My word. In terms of acting chops it's like putting chicken chop pork chop and lamb chop together.
Oh right, not 30 minutes past, I did my part for charity in the form of $10 in cookies. I do hope I'm not going to be scammed/ripped-off TOO badly. Never struck myself as being charitable.
I'm going to dota now.
"In bed that night I invented a special drain that would be underneath every pillow in New York and would connect to the reservoir. Whenever people cried themselves to sleep, the tears would all go into the same place, and in the morning the weatherman could report if the water level of the Reservoir of Tears had gone up or down, and you could know if New York was in heavy boots. And when something really terrible happened - like a nuclear bomb, or at least a biological weapons attack - an extremely loud siren would go off, telling everyone to get to Central Park to put sandbags around the reservoir."
-Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
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