Diversion, of attention.

To disentangle myself from this web of nonsense, I have come to a decision to divert my conscious attention and strength onto a different goal. One that is more beneficial for the future, and less challenging, from the aspect that the fruits to be bore are much more predictable.

To my dreams I shall head! I was blown away by all the people I met and fun I've enjoyed, and my purpose was slightly neglected for a moment. But seeing someone else strive so hard for their dreams made me feel guilty that I was having too much fun and wasting my energy being depressed over useless matters.

So I shall devote myself to the pursuit of my dreams, wholly! Utilize my time wisely on meaningful matters and eradicate all immature, childish, self centered and hopeless thoughts from my mind. Maybe by focusing on something else I shall become less vulnerable. And, take my mind off some matters bugging me now. They're menial stuff, really, that can't be put to words or expressed in any way. Except probably through grunts and moans. But that would be plain disturbing.

Not going to care that much about things that aren't ripe yet, just let things flow as they are. Whatever will happen, will eventually happen. I'll just wait for that one thing to materialise patiently.

Keep your eye on your dreams, and be the person you want to be. You're not there yet, you're still far from it.

Determination!
No pain, no gain. It's the bitter fruits that make life sweet.

The bipolar strikes, again.

That emotion deepened today, as if my possessions have been robbed, my privacy intruded. I looked for an escape route and thankfully found a pair of familiar, warm eyes greeting me at the other end.

Sometimes I feel as in life in college was a temporary heaven where I smiled and laughed and played all the time, then run home to my old friends to be really me again. It's become that desperate to a point where I must take the public transport home everyday, just to have those hours of solitude and calm. Any sad events that interfere with my college life will be pushed back and only thought upon after I leave the place.

 It's becoming a bad habit, so much so that sometimes I'm desperate to go home, refusing any offers of staying later. I need to go sulk in my lonely little corner, alone. Stare out of the windows at the moving pictures, feeling life going on, without me.

These thoughts are terribly selfish and immature, two words that symbolise me. I'm letting a free reign on my emotions, hence probably the freedom is tripping me on my feet, inducing feelings of despise, fear, insecurity, depression, anxiety. What if?

It seems that everyone can do, except that person. This is bad, so very bad, I'm becoming evil and vicious. Anyways, it was nice to know that someone feels the same way as me too, my emo partner :) next time when you're down, I shall try my best to cheer you up. So...better start collecting emo stories now :) and please, don't be so stressed for your exams and go grab your lunch at appropriate venues at accurate times! Library snacking does not count!

Sometimes I want to have a mental disorder so that I have an excuse to be abnormal. Or, plain moody with volatile mood swings.

Sooner or later

Deja vu, very much. I seem to remember meeting someone like this, of whom I envy everything the person has and hope, to be a little or more like the person. But then I dislike the person at the same time too, because that person doesn't give me due attention but instead grabs others' time and affection. I start feeling left out, even if they extend their arms towards me the dynamics are different already. I can't see them in the same light anymore. Then, My emotions towards that person will gradually transform into hatred. Why, why take everything of mine away from me, when I don't even have much? This over paranoia is probably remnants of some childhood betrayal experience. Too long to elaborate. But I have a faint memory of becoming good friends with that person in the end, and then proceed to wonder how could I ever have had such horrible thoughts. So, is it happening now? I'm tired, to make anymore effort full communication. Yes, journalism is not your conventional mass communication subject so stop stereotyping me into becoming someone who's chatty and communicates constantly. I just can't be bothered, I'm sorry. Insecurity frequently bugs me, then I ponder whether do I have friends. Often then now, I come to the conclusion of no. Then, in reality, I seem to have too much. Huh. Slipping back into the same mud, yeah. Wide circle of friends but little close ones. Why am I moaning here? Hmmm, mm,mmmmmm.

Snap outtaa it! I've got to stop bein go lazy and try to go out more == Brrrrr But still. Very, very lazy.

Ridiculous

To be still hung out over menial stuff like this. I shouldn't even be bothered by it, seeing as it has succeeded in tripping me every single year of my life in the past. Every, single, day. I thought I was free of it, I thought I was released from its vicious grasp but then, no. I had to slip again, into that intimidating pit of nothingness. Again. What should I do now? How shall I overcome it? Face the truth, yet it can get too painful to bear. Nevertheless, it will still surface and stare me right at my face. I haven't found that somebody yet. Found, then, separated. By distance, by time. Some things just can't be expressed like that, they clamp up in my throat. I need, some thing. What?

Nope I'm not satisfied. What I wanted is not mine. Yet. Or ever will be.

Solitude,

Melancholy. I can't be left at home for too long a period without any form of socialising. No, even facebook can't save me. Somehow solitary can become addictive, once you immerse in it your conscious becomes permanently intertwined with it. I can't pull myself out of this swamp, my feet are stuck in this knee deep mud.

Not that it's torturing or anything, instead its offering quite some comfort. Being secluded from humans, from anything that talks, requires you to talk, wants you to respond, expects your feedback is wonderful. For sometime. Until it overwhelms you, then you become lonely and desperate, slipping as you  climb back up the slippery slope.

Frequently you give up halfway, give a glance back to your old spot and realise it holds much more attraction. Either you let go and comfortably land with a thud back onto that soft beany bag, or, you continue with your efforts.

Hence the need for socialising. Someone has to save me before I sink too deep. Everytime. Otherwise the earth shall gradually start closing itself above me again. Then, truly, I will be left. Away from the world.

More

The older I get, the more  understand myself.
And the more I get intimidated by whoever's lurking in those shadows of mine.
Sometimes I'm proud of my dark side, sometimes I'm tortured by it.
My flaws are obvious to the eye, and I take no action to shield it from others
Accept me or not, I pretend that I don't care.
Yet deep in the depths every slight hint slashes my heart like a knife.
Give me frank opinions, spare me from the speculation with no conclusion.
Drive me crazy, obsessed with picking up clues.
To justify my thoughts, to convince.

Intrigued. By your problems.
The persona and the shadow,
I'd rather know the shadow.
If it's a face that rarely materialises,
the more beguiling it is.

Fine, go drown in self pity drown drown drown

Distractions

A train ride without a book is boredom. A mind without a thought is empty. A soul without an aim is confusing. A person staring at strange faces at ordinary places is lost. Staring into space for two hours is not rewarding, in fact the whole journey home lengthens and becomes one long weary ride home devoid of any life. It's like a scene out of a grey movie, Derry and mundane, lacking the vitality of colored films and mystique of black and white films. Lately my mind has been preoccupied, with desires and thoughts in which roots are undetermined, authenticity awaiting validation. I'm terrified of it,I'm avoiding it, but like a boomerang it keeps hitting me face front. Somehow in the depths of my heart I know this all stems from nothingness. And yet I keep yearning after it, defying my past principles of life( real lame, actually, such as not being caught up in the social media frenzy as everyone, opting to use emails to communicate, preferring solitude solely because everyone prefers companionship- I'm weird, I know) just to get a glimpse, a glimmer of hope or just to cure that itch. I never seem to be able to achieve that target though. Yes, there were sweet consolation prizes along the way but it's not a sufficient substitute. That dull throbbing ache of disappointment is still present. This all sounds stupid now that I've written it down. Yes, I shall try to scrape this distraction away from my mind. Proactive, proactive. Put on your glasses and see the world clearly, for what it is.

Frizzled

Whenever I have a lot of things to do, and so little time, I freak out. I panic. I get into a bad mood. My temper flares.

HENCE. I need to cool down by writing here.

That's actually an exaggeration. When I'm angry, it's the silent, brooding type which will only be exhibited when you cross me. But still, it's not something nice to feel. Things go awry, my schedule gets wasted, help isn't given. All that shit.

I lost my ID, I lost my money( In one week. Two times.),I couldn't find the movie, our proposal gets banned, exams coming my way, the experiment not working, people not replying my messages and mails.

Plans undone. Unsure.

Being too worked up doesn't solve anything, as experience proves. So, I shall calm down, do my stuff one by one, stop freaking out, and quit anticipating.

Something's wrong with my inner vocabulary dictionary today. Words aren't smoothly retrieved, regardless of language.

怎么办?哎. 去听五月天安慰安慰自己.

我是一只咸鱼.

Approach

I can finally see the clearing after this long walk in this intense, gloomy forest. Glimpses of the blue sky and sunshine flood me with torrents of hope, relief and joy. That thick excuse of a forest almost had me choking to death, strangled by all those twining vines, treacherous pits and overwhelming sorrow. There was too much resonance of ideas back there, and it scares me. Imagine, if I continued in that path, the possibility of ending up just like them, those sad souls.

 Oh. The death count rose to four.

 Impatience brought me to flip over to the last few pages of the novel, something i've been trying to keep from doing. But for this book, yes, I'll forgive myself because that glimmer of hope I saw back there gave me the courage to continue reading. I couldn't understand, at first, why the author had to create stories of such sadness and gloom. What's the use of making your readers get lost in your dark disturbing world? It's hard to say whether or not this society exists in the real world, so for it to be a depiction of the society now can be a little irrelevant sometimes.

 But he's probably working his magic on me, isn't he? I used to think that whatever the protagonists thought and acted were no harm, they were normal, it was the society's fault. That they were justified to live that way. Then the story plunged deep into darkness, pulling me along with it. Depressed, I could only hope for a positive outcome, an outstretched helpful arm, love, care, and all that shit that I detest in novels. No, their behaviors were wrong. The way they were living could only lead to destruction. I want to be normal, I want a happy ending, I want the author to have mercy on his characters. I wouldn't have minded if some cheesy elements were added. The fog has been lifted, my anxiety gone. It's the first time I've hoped for a nice, cliche ending in a novel. The read? Definitely worth it. Next, we need to talk about Kevin!!! :)

Attachment

Reading Haruki Murakami is disconcerting.

As I read deeper and deeper into the novel, I actually felt this inner joy when I started identifying with the thoughts and habits of the characters. I could relate to them, the way they felt and understand the motive behind their actions. They were courageous loners, people who bravely defied the worldly methods and lived their own way, as they wanted.

But it had to end horribly. They had to die. Three committed suicide, all without prior hints, leaving behind no written notes or actions betraying their motives. No one knew why they took their lives, and it wouldn't even be revealed till the end of the book.

What?

It makes me feel like a psychopath, potentially ready to be admitted into a sanatorium. I'm mad, like the mentally unstable, confused, crazy people in the book. The way he describes their every move, every thought makes me want to become like them, detached from the world, hide in a shell, wait for things to pass, shield myself from hurt. To appear perfect to others, rid myself of all flaws. To yearn for complete understanding and unconditional love. When I don't even open up.

Maybe I deviated a little from the original meaning conveyed in the book but, those are the emotions welled up when I read the book. It's driving me insane, pushing me into depression.

But I still read it, because it is indefinitely fascinating. I haven't reached the end yet, but I have a pretty good assumption that no, the problems won't be solved in the end. I hope not. I hope that the surviving protagonist wouldn't suddenly get a revelation of life revealed to him and start becoming mainstream or something. That would be so cliche, unrealistic and lecture-ish. Which I hate.

No, life's troubles never end. We just have to cope with it. I get lost all the time, but I hope I'll be able to find my way back, back to sanity, and stop isolating myself from others.

I hate mainstream.