Friday, February 03, 2006
Haiz.
Didn't go to school today because of a serious migraine.
That's the official reason at any rate.
But I did have a migraine, which started on my way home from school yesterday. I was on the verge of banging my head against the wall to try and numb the pain somehow (dumb I know), but had to restrain myself due to the fact that I didn't want to be labelled as a lunatic in my school uniform by all the other people on the same MRT carriage that I was.
Of course, the migraine subsided later, but returned with full force somewhere around midnight, when I was about to go watch anime at 11pm. but woke up an hour later to realise that I slept through the anime slot. And also with a thudding headache.
Was reading Chengwei's blog again. It's one of the few that I visit on any regular basis, the others being Gracie's blog and occasionally Lester's and Wan Jing's blogs. I never felt the urge to read the blogs of some people though. I wonder why...
Incidentally, one of Chengwei's recent posts made me almost cry. Almost. I don't cry that easily. I hope.
How much have I given up to become what I am today? That's a question usually applied to great people, or people who have achieved great things. I am neither, yet Chengwei asked the same of me.
Actually though, everyone changes. That's an absolute fact. And inevitably, we give up little things about ourselves in the process. Sometimes we notice, most times we don't. Until many many years later, we look back and realise what we lost.
What have I given up?
Love. I want to love, but sometimes it feels so hard. I cling on to my love for my father, but at the same time I reject that feeling because it hurts me more than it benefits me. And I'm wary of loving others because I'm afraid that they'll leave.
Already, my emotional dependency on some of my friends (like Grace and even Kanai) is starting to worry me. I keep telling myself that I've got to wean myself off that debiliating dependency, but yet I'm reluctant to pull out of my comfort zone.
I trust my friends, yet some treacherous parts of my head tells me not to do so, in the inevitable face of the fact that nobody will stay the same forever.
Hating is a lot easier than loving. But hating can also be more painful. I don't want to hate my friends because I've already had enough of the pain, but loving my friends makes me uneasy, with the possibility that someday they will all leave me hanging heavily over my head.
So I kind of hang somewhere in between. I trust my friends with a lot of things, but with a failsafe in mind: the ability to cut loose and away when the situation calls for it. It's a crappy compromise, but its better than grieving over loss when it happens, or isolating oneself from ALL friendly contact.
It's this kind of struggle that I have, one that Chengwei also mentions on his blog. I struggle between my instinctive reaction to help, and my cynical response of apathy.
On a sidenote, I just realised that a lot of my posts are awfully self-centered. Heck, I already knew that I was an awfully self-centered person. I like talking about me. Does that count as narcisscism? I think it does, at least that's the way I see it.
I can't talk about other people without inevitably returning the subject to myself. That's a serious character flaw. I relate to other people according to myself and my experiences.
I'm not sure if that last line made sense.
I could well be a poster child for the "me first!" mentality. I do it all the time, consciously or not. I try and try to be sensitive to others, but it always comes back to me first. Meh...
Mr Smith mentioned in class that people who devote themselves to the artistic world, like musicians, poets, and artists and the like, are often difficult people to live with as they are so closed off to what is perceived as "the real world". Its a result of them being enclosed in their own world where they derive their inspiration from.
By own world I don't mean the world of our imaginations. Of course, there's always an element of that, but its basically a matter of perception.
Normal people look at the sky and see dark and heavy clouds. They think, "It's gonna rain."
Someone else, like an artist perhaps, look up, see the same phenomenon, and think "Beautiful, now how do I capture that beauty?"
The fact that it may rain may or may not cross the artist's mind. The first thing they will recognise is the potential of what they see that can be applied to their own work. Of course, I'm generalising, since I'm no artist. It's just an opinion that can be disputed.
But I do know that when I see storm clouds, I also make the correlation that it will rain, but at the back of my mind I admire the beauty of nature and wonder if I could ever translate it to words.
In fact, one fine morning at SAV, on the first day of school in fact, I sat at the edge of the canteen staring at the sky. I was bemused, caught in the wonderment of the sun rising higher and higher, staining the clouds with a brilliant fiery crimson. The clouds themselves were not the kind that were puffy like cotton balls, but streaked ridges like rows of plowed farmland. I remember seeing the sight and sighing over how wondrous it was, and how I couldn't be able to put the beauty of it into words, like I'm trying so badly now.
In fact, my words don't do justice to that sight. I always feel ashamed of myself when that happens. Feelings of inadequacy is a term that seems woefully inadequate to express how I feel about myself.
I'm a work-in-progress. I need a wider vocabulary. I need to get a new dictionary and update myself. I need new words to convey what I see and feel in the wider world that I place myself in.
But then again, words are never enough to convey everything. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I say its worth far more than that. It makes me feel humbled when I see the works of masters.
Seeing a raven in flight, a glossy jet black with perfectly preened feathers, soaring over our heads to land on a nearby table.
Many would see a pest, a scavenger that dirties the place with its waste matter.
I saw a work of beauty in the piercing black eyes, gleaming like precious stones and shining with an almost cunningly sinister intelligence. I saw sleek black feathers, gleaming as if it were oiled, reflecting the sun's rays and absorbing it at the same time. I saw power and freedom and beauty, all in this creature known as a pest and scavenger, and once called a harbinger of death in ancient times.
Sometimes I think I'm really going insane. Don't you?
]
Didn't go to school today because of a serious migraine.
That's the official reason at any rate.
But I did have a migraine, which started on my way home from school yesterday. I was on the verge of banging my head against the wall to try and numb the pain somehow (dumb I know), but had to restrain myself due to the fact that I didn't want to be labelled as a lunatic in my school uniform by all the other people on the same MRT carriage that I was.
Of course, the migraine subsided later, but returned with full force somewhere around midnight, when I was about to go watch anime at 11pm. but woke up an hour later to realise that I slept through the anime slot. And also with a thudding headache.
Was reading Chengwei's blog again. It's one of the few that I visit on any regular basis, the others being Gracie's blog and occasionally Lester's and Wan Jing's blogs. I never felt the urge to read the blogs of some people though. I wonder why...
Incidentally, one of Chengwei's recent posts made me almost cry. Almost. I don't cry that easily. I hope.
How much have I given up to become what I am today? That's a question usually applied to great people, or people who have achieved great things. I am neither, yet Chengwei asked the same of me.
Actually though, everyone changes. That's an absolute fact. And inevitably, we give up little things about ourselves in the process. Sometimes we notice, most times we don't. Until many many years later, we look back and realise what we lost.
What have I given up?
Love. I want to love, but sometimes it feels so hard. I cling on to my love for my father, but at the same time I reject that feeling because it hurts me more than it benefits me. And I'm wary of loving others because I'm afraid that they'll leave.
Already, my emotional dependency on some of my friends (like Grace and even Kanai) is starting to worry me. I keep telling myself that I've got to wean myself off that debiliating dependency, but yet I'm reluctant to pull out of my comfort zone.
I trust my friends, yet some treacherous parts of my head tells me not to do so, in the inevitable face of the fact that nobody will stay the same forever.
Hating is a lot easier than loving. But hating can also be more painful. I don't want to hate my friends because I've already had enough of the pain, but loving my friends makes me uneasy, with the possibility that someday they will all leave me hanging heavily over my head.
So I kind of hang somewhere in between. I trust my friends with a lot of things, but with a failsafe in mind: the ability to cut loose and away when the situation calls for it. It's a crappy compromise, but its better than grieving over loss when it happens, or isolating oneself from ALL friendly contact.
It's this kind of struggle that I have, one that Chengwei also mentions on his blog. I struggle between my instinctive reaction to help, and my cynical response of apathy.
On a sidenote, I just realised that a lot of my posts are awfully self-centered. Heck, I already knew that I was an awfully self-centered person. I like talking about me. Does that count as narcisscism? I think it does, at least that's the way I see it.
I can't talk about other people without inevitably returning the subject to myself. That's a serious character flaw. I relate to other people according to myself and my experiences.
I'm not sure if that last line made sense.
I could well be a poster child for the "me first!" mentality. I do it all the time, consciously or not. I try and try to be sensitive to others, but it always comes back to me first. Meh...
Mr Smith mentioned in class that people who devote themselves to the artistic world, like musicians, poets, and artists and the like, are often difficult people to live with as they are so closed off to what is perceived as "the real world". Its a result of them being enclosed in their own world where they derive their inspiration from.
By own world I don't mean the world of our imaginations. Of course, there's always an element of that, but its basically a matter of perception.
Normal people look at the sky and see dark and heavy clouds. They think, "It's gonna rain."
Someone else, like an artist perhaps, look up, see the same phenomenon, and think "Beautiful, now how do I capture that beauty?"
The fact that it may rain may or may not cross the artist's mind. The first thing they will recognise is the potential of what they see that can be applied to their own work. Of course, I'm generalising, since I'm no artist. It's just an opinion that can be disputed.
But I do know that when I see storm clouds, I also make the correlation that it will rain, but at the back of my mind I admire the beauty of nature and wonder if I could ever translate it to words.
In fact, one fine morning at SAV, on the first day of school in fact, I sat at the edge of the canteen staring at the sky. I was bemused, caught in the wonderment of the sun rising higher and higher, staining the clouds with a brilliant fiery crimson. The clouds themselves were not the kind that were puffy like cotton balls, but streaked ridges like rows of plowed farmland. I remember seeing the sight and sighing over how wondrous it was, and how I couldn't be able to put the beauty of it into words, like I'm trying so badly now.
In fact, my words don't do justice to that sight. I always feel ashamed of myself when that happens. Feelings of inadequacy is a term that seems woefully inadequate to express how I feel about myself.
I'm a work-in-progress. I need a wider vocabulary. I need to get a new dictionary and update myself. I need new words to convey what I see and feel in the wider world that I place myself in.
But then again, words are never enough to convey everything. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I say its worth far more than that. It makes me feel humbled when I see the works of masters.
Seeing a raven in flight, a glossy jet black with perfectly preened feathers, soaring over our heads to land on a nearby table.
Many would see a pest, a scavenger that dirties the place with its waste matter.
I saw a work of beauty in the piercing black eyes, gleaming like precious stones and shining with an almost cunningly sinister intelligence. I saw sleek black feathers, gleaming as if it were oiled, reflecting the sun's rays and absorbing it at the same time. I saw power and freedom and beauty, all in this creature known as a pest and scavenger, and once called a harbinger of death in ancient times.
Sometimes I think I'm really going insane. Don't you?
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