Torment torment

I don't want to be mean, but sometimes .. oh gosh. This article is boring, so are the people.

Interview flops

It's dangerous, but I always have failure in the forefront of my thoughts. Whenever I'm handed an an article to write, there's always this comforting thought at the back of my mind that whispers: "It's alright if your sources refuse to answer your calls, you can just tell your editor that the story failed, and it's none of your fault."

How delusional that thought is!

Why isn't it my fault? Of course it is my fault. There are so many different methods to procure information now- failure to seek for even one contact is shameful. I know that myself, but that whispering devil just wants to make me hide from the truth and find excuses.

I realize that whenever it comes to asking favors from others, I fail horribly. Right now I"m lost in writing my article- they aren't responding to me at a rate that I would like, I don't know who I should look for, and the information is scattered everywhere. How should I summarize it all, extract the essence from the bulk of data and present an enticing angle?

Just the data itself is boring to me.

What should I do?
I hate failures.

Group work

I dislike group work.

My brain juices just stop flowing.

Private lives

How exciting was this play! Littered with beautifully written lines, joyful humor and a deep- reaching theme, Private Lives is indeed a big fat parcel of ecstasy.

The 1920's have always been a point of interest for me, but now more so than ever. Seeing the two psyches juxtaposed against each other in this play, even prominently exhibited by their different dress choices and conversation topics is a joy, especially when it becomes the butt of the joke.

Elyot and Amanda are flamboyant, liberal, free, careless and "flippant" while their new spouses belong to the old, rich class- prim and proper, obsessed with codes of honor and gender roles inherited by ages of the past. When they come together, everything explodes- literally- as they tear the stage apart.

We see Amanda's husband in beige suit, ready to engage in a duel of honor trying so hard to understand Elyot's superficiality and slickness. Then there's Elyot's wife, a sweet young lady who tries to pursue this man of whom she doesn't understand.

What ensues is a hilarious mix of comedy and romance.

Another theme present is on the definition of "love". What is love? Something that torments its victims? Elyot and Amanda's relationship is explosive and stormy- their love is thunderous- beautiful yet lethal. Their new spouses, who eventually fall in love with each other as well, become such monsters as well in the end. I suppose this is in response to the dawn of a new era, one of liberation whereby girls are free to love and boys to woo. They no longer had to have the relationships that their parents have- solemn, serious, proper and more like an obligation than something as exciting as romance. They could now have passionate, wild love! They could be themselves and care not for codes of conduct!

Yet such freedom comes with its own price- you've got to deal with each other, confront the ugliest monster in you and in the partner you love in order to enjoy such ecstatic love. That's what the couple had to discover.

I suppose my obsession with the jazz age has to do with the rapid changes that surround the times, bringing in confusing mix of ideals and culture as everybody tries to learn about themselves.

Some profiles

Facebook: To socialize

Blog: To release

Twitter: I can't be bothered

Pinterest: Likewise

Tumblr: For quotes

Instagram: For photos and sharing thoughts

Communication

I think that's the key. Having searched for so long the essence of communication, I think the crux of connecting with others is sharing. Telling others your problems, your stories and your daily encounters, and then listening patiently to theirs. It involves bringing your dilemmas to others to be solved together instead of wrecking your brain in desire to resolve the issue by yourself.

How did I never notice that?

Maybe because that action has always left me the feelings if I were troubling another, that others are uninterested in listening to my trivial problems. Who had time for others when they themselves were riddled with frustrations of their own? Yet it didn't seem so here- everybody is so ready to share their feelings and seek for opinions. Rather alarming on the level of openness and tendency to chatter incessantly, but still rather sweet and in many cases, helpful.

I've noticed how my suitemates, especially my roommate connect with others. She always takes time to talk to others, even in expense of her own already scarce time. They all share with each other little details of their lives, talking even when they've got pressing deadlines. I admire that, and I'm trying to learn that quality.

The problem is, I find myself inherently uninteresting at times.

It's as if I don't have any interesting stories to share, I'm not funny, nor do I have exciting conversation topics to contribute. Am I that boring? Sometimes I think not, sometimes I'm convinced of my dreariness.

I guess that's a reason I'm enticed by the art of storytelling. Just the idea of sitting around a bonfire, telling stories of our lives, or sitting in a library filled with people of distinct backgrounds and passions sharing openly their ideals and principles of life seem so inviting.

The definition of friendship used to be an indistinguishable goo in the past, but I daresay it's getting untangled gradually.

Soon, it shall see sunshine and the blue sky!

I feel so stupid

I guess it's a good thing that I'm learning new things here in university.

As my history professor told me, "Isn't that the point of college?"

I was telling him about my visit to the museum of history and the state capitol, where I saw ex- confederate soldiers step out in full uniform to celebrate their old general's birthday. He laughed, remarked on how they seem to be of another era, joked about the United States being the only place where people still celebrate birthdays of traitors and talked about the Chancellor's poorly written e- mail response to the athletic scandal.

Now, I am not a smart girl who is too informed about history. For instance, I know the the old confederate general Robert E. Lee is a hero, but not a traitor. What did he mean by his supposed joke? Nor have I read the chancellor's e-mail at that time, so I didn't actually know how to respond.

So I did what ignorant people do. I laughed and pretended that I knew.

How horrible it is to discover the extent of your limitations! Sitting in my sustainability class gives me that precise feeling of inferiority- why were these students so clued in about the details of zoning and environment related technology? I am still a layman's term user!

Journalism class is worst. How did they know so much about different companies and have so much experience in everything? Have they lived ten years longer than me? What have I been doing all my life? Wasting it on wasteful things?

Most probably.

Anyhow,recognizing my deficiency should be the first step to unlocking a larger realm of knowledge. There's no space to feel inferior here.

Just keep pushing forwards, girl!

Wall of dreams

I feel less anxious when I have my goals written down and plastered in somewhere obvious. It's embarrassing to have my typical and crappy dreams displayed for all to see, but what can I do? The only way to keep focused is to keep my eyes, literally, on my goals.

Thus this "wall of dreams" facing my desk.

It's quite effective really, when you're in the dumps and some phrase that you've got up on your wall reminds you to stay optimistic, have an adventure or face your fears. Nothing beats visual motivators!

My side wall which is decorated with postcards serve as another source of inspiration as well- I want to travel, explore the world and learn new cultures! How good it is to wake up to a world of wonders, literally, by your eyes.

The benefits of having artistic friends is this- you get handmade cards with exquisite art that you can show off on your wall. It doesn't even matter if it's ugly. As long as there are loving paragraphs of handwritten words, all value of a card is redeemed.

As bare as my dorm room is, I feel energized by all the love and dreams scattered on the walls.

What a lovely room I've got!

John Green

I wish I read his books when I was a teenager, rather than all those trashy teenage chick- lit books. They fed me such unrealistic notions of life subtly that I didn't realize until those miserable years have already taken their toll.

Those days when I was struggling with feeling different from everyone else, when I always felt out of tune with ordinary people, those days when I regard myself an abnormal freak who needs fixing badly.

Who knew it was alright to be different, to entertain daydreams, possibilities, questions of life and people daily, then wishing to discuss such issues with friends?

The restlessness of feeling nothing, thinking nothing, inspired by nothing can be tormenting. I regard that restive impulse as the culprit of making me lose motivation to strive but instead aim for an ordinary living when I could have had much more.

I imagine reading Green at those turbulent times- I would have been introduced to new realms of thoughts, exposed to poetry and quotes, my mind could have been occupied with thoughts of different sorts instead of being tortured by nothingness!

His books always seem to follow the arc of an ordinary character meeting an eccentric one, then they both go on a journey where they both learn from each other. Adventure, life's questions, death, depression and literature, always literature. Maybe I would have had a different outlook in life then, if I had read Green when I was young.

It's too late to lament about unchangeable facts of course. I shouldn't be ashamed of my past.

But one can dream right?

What if I meet someone as eccentric as Alaska Young or Margo one day? Or someone like Chip or Gus? What would it be like? Would they find me too mundane? I'm not even as cool as Miles who memorizes last words. Shouldn't it be great fun to talk to people like that? People who have such strong passions and strong personalities that they will never cease to amaze you?

Or what if I've already met such people in my life? I like to think so. I certainly have a few friends who possess unique characters and memorable traits as well as good taste in art.

Maybe they're my Alaska?
Or maybe I'm their Miles?

I'd like to think so.

A friend once called me eccentric, and I was secretly overjoyed to being assigned that adjective. Call me ordinary and I'd feel offended.

How vain and conceited I am! Desperately clinging on to that little bit of distinction between myself and others to prove that I am unique, I am special, I am different. A defense mechanism to protect myself from the prickly truth.

The more I convince myself that I am different, the more I find myself mundane.

I shan't wreck my mind pondering upon all those vain and meaningless thoughts now. A professor once taught me to be "unapologetically yourself".

So that's what I'll be. Unapologetically myself.

Organize!

Finally! My idea is half- baked, but ready to be formed into a pitch. Where and how should I start? This is the struggle for me whenever I write anything. The lead is where I expend most of my energy, wrecking my brain to produce an interesting lead. Without a good lead, my article will never be out of the oven.

Something that thumps your heart

I daresay when you find something that widens your pupils and gets your brain juices flowing, you'll have found your passion and dream in life. Reading all about land use and urban planning has that effect on me, although I'm not sure how that would fit into my future plans. Which, I must say, is very vague and empty right now. There are only a few scribbled lines and sketches, nothing solid.

Is it possible that I can spend my life reading, writing, exploring, researching, talking to amazing humans and taking photographs?

Pitch fear!

It has come down to this again, hasn't it? The moment when you have to stand in front of your boss and pitch your idea for a mere 90 seconds, hoping, desperately hoping that you will be able to get all your ideas out on the table with clarity. The last time that happened, I stuttered, forgot what to say, faltered at the confused and half- mocking face of my boss and failed to answer any of his questions rationally.

Please let that not be the case on Wednesday!

My lesson learned from the previous experience was that I should keep things simple- be clear on the goals of your product, answer the few main questions, and then just deliver it with full conviction. No need to add flowery frills or inventive methods of deliverance. It's not as easy as it sounds of course, since that I am not even sure of what I should and should not say! My nerves are failing me and it's going to trip up my words.

I hate that moment when my mind goes blank and you can see the stars falling out of my eyes.

Anyhow, I:m diligently (not really, since I'm here typing away) researching on my product idea now, only to find that every single idea I have has already been used, albeit hideous interfaces.

Public spaces app? San Francisco and New York beat me to that.
Sustainable cities app? Nevada and Virginia were ahead of me.
Real life city planning stimulation? SimCity! Who would've thought they've become realistic!
Crowd-sourced community project app? Thrdplace, thank you for developing the idea.
Vote with your wallet? Not really my idea, but I definitely found it enticing, only to have buycott and pocketbookvoters doing the job already.
Imaginary city planning game or app? Placemaking's been there, done that.

I somehow feel that the gem of an idea is hidden somewhere within the mountain of information I've collected and deep inside my mind. I've just got to cut through the clutter and find that shy little treasure.

So... where should I start?

Return!

I've decided to return to blogging. Expressing oneself is a form of art, one that I am horribly in want of. Somehow I even suspect if there is even a funny bone in me. Anyhow, writing more wouldn't be of harm.

Life has been quite kind to me lately although it's tugging at the tail of my shirt urging me to do things. Too many things demand my attention, really. How am I suppose to treat them all with equal attention? One can only have that much time.

Oh this new days!

I fear that my command of language is drowning in solitude. With not as many occasions to be spent socializing, I don't speak that much and in consequence, find myself stuttering and lost for words once I engage in that energy expending activity again. These days of relative silence have been quite serene and in fact, joyful for me. I've spent time with myself strolling around the campus, going for walks, reading, exploring nooks and crannies of the grounds in my own company- and enjoyed every bit of it. Quite surprising, really, since I thought that I would die of silence. Instead I seem to be indulging in it.....a little too much.

So the tipping point is about to approach. I begin to notice how I'm often alone; I begin to lose my literary skills; I begin to feel lonely and hyped up every time I talk to someone; I begin to feel infinitely annoyed at all that high pitched American accents piping up around me.

Oh I need to talk to people before the monster of solitude consumes me!

I've met some amazing people here already, so I better keep in contact with them so I don't get lost in my own tiny world.

Bliss

When did you feel most at peace, as if you were the king of the world and no spears could ever penetrate your skin? When you felt like there were no troubles in this world great enough to overcome you, when you felt invincible, and that anything was possible?

That moment of pure bliss when a compelling mix of adrenaline and serenity run its course through your every vein and a spontaneous smile breaks through those long down- turned lips of yours. The fatigued cells stretching their bodies, opening their eyes to a fresh stream of rejuvenating sunlight.

I rediscovered a lot of these moments lately.

That time when I sat on the Terengganu beach staring unto the dark turquoise sea underneath a blanket of stars.
That time when I lay my head on my mother's lap on a stool overlooking the vast blue sea.
That time when I sat in the car with surreal images passing me by in New Zealand.
That time when I walked back to class in the clear sunlight, birds chirping and cool breeze accompanying me.
That time when I walked home after the rain, the insects singing their victorious song, the air bursting with freshness and moisture.
That time when I walked through KL alone.
That time when I danced to jazz music at home.
Those times when I stared at beautiful cloud formations for ages and ages, unable to believe the sheer beauty of it.
Those times when I stared at the wonderful landscapes bathed in sunlight in amazement.
Those times when I walked through the hilly paths of FRIM alone, enjoying the trees, sunlight and air.
Those times when I star gazed with my brother.
That time when we stayed out all day trying to capture the eclipse of the sun.
That time when we sat on top of the mountain waiting for sun rise.
Those times when I walked through the entire length of every beach I went to, alone.
Those times when I drew for the entire day.
That time when we walked through Oslo in the snow, took the train to random places and continued to walk again, under the raining white snowflakes.
Every, every single moment in Bali and New Zealand.

That day, in Raleigh when we slept under a crude tent.
That day, in Raleigh when we went through so many tasks with perfect team work.
That day, in Raleigh when we trudged and climbed through rivers, mud, bushes.
That day,  in Raleigh when we bathed in the freezing river.
That day, in Raleigh when I cried as I reached the peak.
That day, in Raleigh when my team mates cheered me on, held onto me, pulled me up, waited for me.
That day, in Raleigh when we walked back under the stars, on a desolate road, talking, chatting about anything under the sun, with one person holding my hand and the other with arms over my shoulders.
That day, in Raleigh when we cooked and ate simple, unfilling food.
That day, in Raleigh when we built a raft and practically swam in the lake.
That day, in Raleigh when we laid on the road and gazed at the stars.
That day, in Raleigh when the wonderful smell of the jungle filled my nostrils once I stepped off the bus.







I felt, feel and will feel, infinite, forevermore.

What took you away from me?

Ecstasy!
Ecstasy leaped out from my every cell as the rain embraced my body.
Ah, the warm, lush, fresh smell of wet grass!
Swarm my senses and wipe away all traces of frustration!
" Thank you",
I grin in satisfaction and gratitude as I bid nature goodbye.

The thunder rumbled ahead and I returned to my shelter.

What took you away from me?

Stars, trees, hills, mountains, skies, clouds, rivers, rain, sand, rocks, mud, fish, air, freedom, solitude, authenticity.

Fear, distraction and illuminated boxes I suppose. A trip back to the roots of the world awakened the giant long asleep inside, making me tired by the superficiality of the world.

Sorry for the long detour! I hope this time I'll keep you in sight as I go trudge through life's winding paths.