Friday, September 29, 2006
Song Playing: savage genius - Inori no Uta
Yes, that's important.
As for how and why, leave that to me.
The title translates to Prayer Song, or something along those lines.
I haven't prayed for very long. I've forgotten what it's like to really pray with faith.
You know, sometimes, even with this medium of communication, which I'm most comfortable with, communicating the meanings in my heart can still be really tough.
And then, sometimes even harder to speak. I just end up singing songs to express myself sometimes. The melody and the lyrics help to ease the pressure that unspoken words cause.
What do I want to say here? Many things. So many things, that sometimes even all the words in the world can't express.
Looking up again at the 'Song Playing', it's somehow ironic. Yes, the artiste of the song is 'savage genius', and that somehow relates to me. Lol.
As for 'Inori no Uta', sometimes it feels that way. Even if I can't hope, I still pray. Not for myself, but for others. For my friends, my loved ones, even the ones I hate.
I can't pray for myself anymore. It just seems so...wrong to do so.
No, you don't get it either. The words for any prayer for myself seem hard to come by. They are all wrong. What can I pray for myself?
For safety? From what?
For love? For whom, and for what purpose?
For success? Why?
For peace? God, is that even possible anymore?
I know. For safety from myself. For the love of me. For peace of mind. These are the things I should be praying for. Except that I don't believe in God anymore. Oh, God is still there, I think. I just don't believe anymore. So whether God is there or not doesn't matter.
People keep telling me I'm cynical. Sou desu. The shell is, as usual.
What you see, what you experience, that's the shell you see of me. That's Huimin. That's the awkward girl who still trips over her own feet. That's the cynic, whom you so decry.
There are many of me. 'Huimin' is one out of many identities. Chaos, my masculine side, otherwise known as cynical perverted bastard.
But even then, Chaos isn't really that bad. He cares for people too, he just doesn't show it. He's evil sometimes, but rather than being immoral, he's just amoral. He just doesn't care about morality and ethics. Whether he deliberately acts in contrary to them is another issue altogether. Which he doesn't. He doesn't break rules for the sake of breaking rules. He breaks rules because they're getting in his way. Otherwise he leaves them alone. It's that simple. That doesn't make him good, but he's not fundamentally evil, that's certain.
Then there's Estrea, the kind big sister figure. Teasing, flirting, sometimes sneaky and unscrupulous, but really just a big softie. Her almost genki nature is a bit unsettling sometimes. Estrea is very very two-faced. To those who don't know her well, she's hyper and happy and overdramatic. To those who she's comfortable with, she reveals a darker side, angry and poisonous, a self-consuming darkness. In the end, Estrea is just a facade for the darkness underneath.
Which brings us to Krista. Krista is very similar to Estrea, but more calculated, more refined in a sense. Not really given to the kind of hyper happiness Estrea possesses, but has a more 'princely' air to her. Pseudo-cool, a more feminine version of Chaos, minus the coarseness. I never explained the reasoning of the name 'Krista', have I? Only to Chengwei I think. Ah well.
Krista bears similarity to 'kris', which in malay means 'dagger' or 'knife'. That's who Krista is, sharp, dangerous. And it also represents a cut, loosening the bonds between past and future. Krista is the future, my future, the future I'm seeking to become. Similarly, 'Krista' reminds me of crystal, multifaceted, a prism reflected within when held up to the light. Strong, yet fragile. That's what it means to be Krista. A crystal knife.
I'm not Krista. But I'm working towards it. It's strange. Evolution always is. I'm her, yet not her. Not yet. Not quite yet. Too many factors to take into account.
The night. Is falling. Night is where I'm most in my element. I feel less inhibited in the dark. I wonder if it's possible to get a night job. I would willingly turn myself into a pseudo-vampire by working nights and sleeping in the day.
I hate the light of day. I hated mornings. The night is not frightening to me. The night is less harsh on the eyes. In the night, I cannot see my hands.
I hated my hands. Long fingered, wide-palmed, large, rough hands. I cannot remember why I loathed them so much. I'm pretty sure they did nothing to deserve it. I'm grateful for how useful they are to me, but at the same time, I cannot bear to look at them.
It's a Macbeth thing, I swear. "Out damn spot, out I say!" Classic.
Similarly, I see blood on my hands. Filth and blood and guilt and sin. Again, there really isn't much justification for it.
Call it a fascination with self-flagellation. Some kind of obscure sadistic instinct to torture myself, maybe? I just like to see myself suffer really. Odd reasoning though.
How do I explain myself? Explaining myself. It seems that I have been doing nothing BUT explain myself since the day I lost the ability to have someone else defend me.
I'm just so sick of having to explain myself. So sick of having to label myself this or that. So sick of trying to justify and condemn my actions.
Why the hell do you think I just sit there and remain mute when people ask me? Pure defiance? Perhaps. But I'm just so tired of defending myself. Condemn me, judge me, just don't have me explain myself.
Or I could stand up and do something to stop the accusations. Do something right, and it will stop. But what is right anymore? God. It's comfortable yes, in my own personal hell. I don't want to talk to them, please don't make me talk to them.
Excuse me while I go rot in this shell of mine.
]
Yes, that's important.
As for how and why, leave that to me.
The title translates to Prayer Song, or something along those lines.
I haven't prayed for very long. I've forgotten what it's like to really pray with faith.
You know, sometimes, even with this medium of communication, which I'm most comfortable with, communicating the meanings in my heart can still be really tough.
And then, sometimes even harder to speak. I just end up singing songs to express myself sometimes. The melody and the lyrics help to ease the pressure that unspoken words cause.
What do I want to say here? Many things. So many things, that sometimes even all the words in the world can't express.
Looking up again at the 'Song Playing', it's somehow ironic. Yes, the artiste of the song is 'savage genius', and that somehow relates to me. Lol.
As for 'Inori no Uta', sometimes it feels that way. Even if I can't hope, I still pray. Not for myself, but for others. For my friends, my loved ones, even the ones I hate.
I can't pray for myself anymore. It just seems so...wrong to do so.
No, you don't get it either. The words for any prayer for myself seem hard to come by. They are all wrong. What can I pray for myself?
For safety? From what?
For love? For whom, and for what purpose?
For success? Why?
For peace? God, is that even possible anymore?
I know. For safety from myself. For the love of me. For peace of mind. These are the things I should be praying for. Except that I don't believe in God anymore. Oh, God is still there, I think. I just don't believe anymore. So whether God is there or not doesn't matter.
People keep telling me I'm cynical. Sou desu. The shell is, as usual.
What you see, what you experience, that's the shell you see of me. That's Huimin. That's the awkward girl who still trips over her own feet. That's the cynic, whom you so decry.
There are many of me. 'Huimin' is one out of many identities. Chaos, my masculine side, otherwise known as cynical perverted bastard.
But even then, Chaos isn't really that bad. He cares for people too, he just doesn't show it. He's evil sometimes, but rather than being immoral, he's just amoral. He just doesn't care about morality and ethics. Whether he deliberately acts in contrary to them is another issue altogether. Which he doesn't. He doesn't break rules for the sake of breaking rules. He breaks rules because they're getting in his way. Otherwise he leaves them alone. It's that simple. That doesn't make him good, but he's not fundamentally evil, that's certain.
Then there's Estrea, the kind big sister figure. Teasing, flirting, sometimes sneaky and unscrupulous, but really just a big softie. Her almost genki nature is a bit unsettling sometimes. Estrea is very very two-faced. To those who don't know her well, she's hyper and happy and overdramatic. To those who she's comfortable with, she reveals a darker side, angry and poisonous, a self-consuming darkness. In the end, Estrea is just a facade for the darkness underneath.
Which brings us to Krista. Krista is very similar to Estrea, but more calculated, more refined in a sense. Not really given to the kind of hyper happiness Estrea possesses, but has a more 'princely' air to her. Pseudo-cool, a more feminine version of Chaos, minus the coarseness. I never explained the reasoning of the name 'Krista', have I? Only to Chengwei I think. Ah well.
Krista bears similarity to 'kris', which in malay means 'dagger' or 'knife'. That's who Krista is, sharp, dangerous. And it also represents a cut, loosening the bonds between past and future. Krista is the future, my future, the future I'm seeking to become. Similarly, 'Krista' reminds me of crystal, multifaceted, a prism reflected within when held up to the light. Strong, yet fragile. That's what it means to be Krista. A crystal knife.
I'm not Krista. But I'm working towards it. It's strange. Evolution always is. I'm her, yet not her. Not yet. Not quite yet. Too many factors to take into account.
The night. Is falling. Night is where I'm most in my element. I feel less inhibited in the dark. I wonder if it's possible to get a night job. I would willingly turn myself into a pseudo-vampire by working nights and sleeping in the day.
I hate the light of day. I hated mornings. The night is not frightening to me. The night is less harsh on the eyes. In the night, I cannot see my hands.
I hated my hands. Long fingered, wide-palmed, large, rough hands. I cannot remember why I loathed them so much. I'm pretty sure they did nothing to deserve it. I'm grateful for how useful they are to me, but at the same time, I cannot bear to look at them.
It's a Macbeth thing, I swear. "Out damn spot, out I say!" Classic.
Similarly, I see blood on my hands. Filth and blood and guilt and sin. Again, there really isn't much justification for it.
Call it a fascination with self-flagellation. Some kind of obscure sadistic instinct to torture myself, maybe? I just like to see myself suffer really. Odd reasoning though.
How do I explain myself? Explaining myself. It seems that I have been doing nothing BUT explain myself since the day I lost the ability to have someone else defend me.
I'm just so sick of having to explain myself. So sick of having to label myself this or that. So sick of trying to justify and condemn my actions.
Why the hell do you think I just sit there and remain mute when people ask me? Pure defiance? Perhaps. But I'm just so tired of defending myself. Condemn me, judge me, just don't have me explain myself.
Or I could stand up and do something to stop the accusations. Do something right, and it will stop. But what is right anymore? God. It's comfortable yes, in my own personal hell. I don't want to talk to them, please don't make me talk to them.
Excuse me while I go rot in this shell of mine.
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