And there you go. 20.

Am I supposed to feel different somehow? Will I grow more strands of curling white hair? Will biological changes occur in increments beneath my skin, a sign that I have reached the so call ‘advanced’ age of twenty? Messages and birthday wishes are already coming in. And I am grateful to know that I am remembered.

It’s no different from any other day. But at the same time it is; it is different, and I have no words to explain why, why, why but that it simply is. It is a day; we are in constant growth every day. A birthday merely functions as a marker of comparison to previous birthdays to show how little or how far one has grown.

But objects, and I suppose days as well, hold meaning when we attach meaning and memories to it.  

But that's the thing you see. I am here. I am alive. And that is ridiculously daunting and scary and frightening and every other adjective at the same time. 

I feel like the word 'static'. Stationary and fix, stagnant. Yet also meaning a build up of charged energy. A buzz of white noise, all talk. 

note to self.

Sometimes it’s too easy to forget that you are not the only one in the world with problems. Oh logically you know that everyone has baggage. But it’s like we are walking through a brightly lit, tiled tunnel at the airport and you can barely pick out what is at the end. You can barely make out the blur of figures and signs under the fluorescent lights. There is the monotone female voice mumbling over the speakers again that a plane full of people is about to leave. And you have all your baggage with you, everything you think necessary (and even those things that are unnecessary and you have grown out of, but you just might need anyway incase) to the formation of you. The weight of it all is heavy and pulls on your muscles. They ache. And you are looking at the floor and thinking of all you have to do because it is too easy to get caught up in our world. It’s too easy to think of the weight bearing down on you as you drag your feet one step at a time. Too easy to forget that just about everyone else has their own heavy burdens to carry. The sound of your creaking knees is only loud in your own ears. And so while you know, logically, that everyone carries their own baggage, and that yours is certainly not the heaviest, it’s easy to get caught up in your own struggles. Too easy to think, “Why me?” or “Why isn’t there anyone here to help me?”

And at some point you are going to have to deal with all those bags. You can’t ignore them, because they will pile up. You can’t ignore the problems away.

Sometimes, you just have to wake up and deal.

To incorporate Mahler’s theory, it’s easy to get caught up with the idea that your world is the world. Isn’t that how we see the world as infants and children? It’s easy to say “well of course I am right. I have experiences in my life that prove my ideas.” It’s easy to think of ourselves as the exemption, as special or that the situation is different because it’s ‘me’. Because that’s just it. It’s us. To us, our problems seem bigger, magnified to a greater degree than the truth because it involves us. There is this mental fallacy that the world revolves around you. It does not. It never did. It will continue to function without you just fine.

Sometimes you need to wake up. You have issues. You will have more issues. Deal. 

I could do without the confusion, thank you very much.

The other day I was introduced to a group of people who have been encouraging the concept of Carpe Diem on someone particularly close to me. The recent men in her life have been telling her to stop worrying and nagging about the future so much, and just live. Stop being such a coward, and live life as it comes for the greatest pleasure and enjoyment.

And these are just my two cents: The current take of Carpe Diem as seizing the day and living as though there is no tomorrow? It has now become rather hedonistic. Few people truly get it. You say it is your life motto, but do you get what it implies? For me, it’s not an excuse card to do what you like. Let us not fool ourselves that life is without its consequences.  Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero – "Seize the Day [or pluck the day, if you want to be particularly accurate], putting as little trust as possible in the future.”  It’s to live knowing that the future is uncertain; about not dumping all our eggs and hopes in the concept of ‘there’s always a tomorrow’. But it is not about disregarding the thoughts of the future in its entirety. Our actions are not always solely our own to decide; ourselves and pleasure are not the only variables; the right thing isn’t comforting to do; and every action has a carryover effect on our selves and others. Ripples in a calm lake. Yes, live your life. But there is no need for uncaring, unnecessary recklessness. Know the consequences and if you are willing to risk them, so be it. Sometimes the benefits outweigh the risk. So do it. But understand that you still have to face yourself in the light of the new day.

And if you live life on this merry chase for the next high, what do you do on your greatest day? Because nothing will top it. How would you keep it taint free of the sufferings and worries that will come? Because the only way I can think to preserve that feeling would be to end on a high. To end it, so that the low never comes.

We never know if we will see tomorrow. But that isn’t an excuse; that isn’t a free license to do as you wish with disregard to everything else. Even in death, our actions have consequences on the living.

Today at class a student and I went through some etymology. And I just wanted to share this one. 

Kaleidoscope: from the Greek kalos (beautiful) + edios (form) + the English –scope (more at idyll). 

What a beautiful definition to explain the time spent in wonder looking at an array of reflected colours and patterns.

I had a chance to meet Tracy Alloway a few years back (she is the daughter of the principal at my homeschool and an expert in Working Memory), and I really admire her work as a psychologist. I was reading one of her books today, and I learnt of several new learning disorders. One in particular reminded me of a conversation I had once with JuYi; we were discussing if there was a correlation between messiness and clumsiness in a bus. A person with Developmental Dyspraxia, also known as Clumsy Child Syndrome, has difficulty in fine motor skills, body movement, and coordination. The disorder does not affect their intelligence, but they do have problems with retaining information in short term memory. Among many other things (they may have difficulty with languages), they would have difficulty organizing their time, keeping track of instructions, planning, regularly misplace things and have trouble with tasks that require several steps. Their disorganized behavior resembles my idea a ‘messy personality’. It just struck me as interesting. Where would we draw the line between accepted levels of clumsiness and absent-mindedness, and an actual motor disorder? If a child can’t follow all the dance moves, constantly falls and confuses her lefts and rights, is she clumsy or suffering from some other problem? When is it a disorder? When it is disruptive to us? When it is disruptive to others? I can’t remember the other ways of looking at what is abnormal (which in itself is difficult when there isn’t an accepted definition of normal behavior). I should really look this up before classes begin. 

Nothing much to write, but I’m posting to clarify my earlier post. No I was not referring to the Bible, but to rather a series of books used to teach the students at the homeschooling centre I used to go to. I’m not disagreeing, or dissing their points, but merely saying that to me if you are going to make such arguments in a textbook than they should be solid arguments. Because kids are learning these stuff. Not all of them are Christian. But what’s more, for me, if you grow up on flimsy arguments on what you believe in than you have little substance to defend it, and are more likely to doubt or lose faith. I have come across many arguments and stands that I disagree with; that doesn’t mean they are out rightly wrong. If I were a non-believer studying the following excerpts, I would find it rather silly. In any case I want to clarify once again that I don’t believe in the theory of evolution, and am a Christian. I am merely saying that as an argument for Christianity being ‘superior, popular, stable’ (as stated in the book) than other existing theories, then the following argument sounds rather weak to me. I actually think it has simplified matters far too much. If I met an believer in evolution and sprouted these points, I would to my own ears, sound idiotic. I might be overtly critical though, and as such, this is purely my own personal opinion.

much overdue, and rather long, but you asked for it.

I wish you didn’t delete your post. Because a snippet of it appeared on my dash, and I wish you didn’t feel the need to edit. But if you removed it for other reasons, that’s okay. But you can talk to us, you know, if you ever feel down.

I went back to A+ today. And I was surprised by how everything has changed. And by how much I hadn’t expected it to. It’s cut off from the bustle of the city, of rigorous change, which gives the illusion of seclusion. But it has changed in increments underneath the fresh paint.  It’s been two years and a half since I graduated, a year since my last visit. And one of the younger boys, I suppose he must be 8 or 9 by now, came up to me and asked, “Why have you been gone for so long? Have you been sick?”

multiple letters and persons.

I wish money weren't a factor. I wish it didn't matter. 

I think it's wonderful that some of us have that choice. 

But I feel like I am running on a limited supply of time. I have a list of things I want to do with my life, there is so much I want to learn, but circumstances won't allow it. For the next few years my life will play according to the rules of society so that my brothers can play to the rules of society. Because it wouldn't be right to deprive them of something merely for selfish reasons. And maybe, maybe when I have made sure everything stable for all of them, I can finally go on that journey to leave my own world and culture behind. 

So you ask, will I do my degree in the states? 

------

I recently got a call from my dad saying that he injured his back. And I guess it just all made me realized that it will be a matter of time before he tires himself out. I really wonder how we make it by sometimes. I wonder how you can not tire yourself looking after mom, and Dom, and Ahmah. 

------

I have to wonder at the human drive to survive. How that at our lowest low, when we lose our sense of self, when we are psychically crippled and weakened, how do some have such spirit to pick themselves back up again? To try to learn to walk again, three times. I know we joke about it, how pssh learning to walk once isn't such a big accomplishment, not when have you have had to learn it repeatedly. How whenever things get comfortable, something happens and we all end up at square one again. I am ridiculously proud of you. Because frankly, if it were me, I would have given up. Because, I am surviving. I think if something happened to me, I wouldn't bother. I just don't have the internal strength to do what you and Mom did. 

------

 The other night I had the terrifying dream of losing my fingers. They weren't chopped off, merely crushed so badly I could no longer use them. And with that I lost most of my vehicles of expression. I lost the ability to write, to type, to draw. 

I fear the lost of my eyes. Because then I would be totally submerged in the darkness of my own world. There I would lose colour, I would lose the ability to perceive beauty.

I fear the lost of my mind. I have joked that if I ever lose my mind and fall into Alzheimer's, it would be best to pull the plug because I would no longer be me. It isn't a joke.

listening to Fun, Some Nights Intro. 

"This world does not need more happy people.
This world needs more people who are content.” - Carissa. 



I'm over thinking it of course, but it is not that I have expectations on what should bring me happiness in life, but that I don't even know what it means. What is it? What series of reactions equate as happiness? The thing is, I can't argue if happiness does or does not exist; I merely do not know. I can't say there is no such thing: that it is a constant uphill battle of trying to get out of despair by finding something (that doesn't exist) to fill a void. Nor can I explain what it is if I tried. It is simply this: I do not know because I feel as though I float in an endless pool of numbness.

I don't know if I'm someone who can be content with life.

I sometimes feel like I am made of toxic stuff.

I tried to write this with no edits. Without having to censor my thoughts. It gets dark, morbid, depressing, and frightening. There's some swearing too. It was frightening to write. You don’t have to read this, in fact this is the warning that you shouldn’t if you believe it would change your opinion of me to know my darkest train of thought. I’m emotional and on a downward slope. And so I ask, out of our friendship that you keep this you yourself if you do continue to read this. Because it is hard enough to write, and I can’t verbalize it. I can’t discuss it be because I am not ready yet. This is not the time for me to face my inner demons; I merely had to get this off my chest. 

It’s perverse of me to seek pain this way. To find some sick bizarre comfort in hurting myself; not physically, though I have imagined the act. Am imagining the act. Haunting, haunting thoughts. I cut myself in my mind. I imagine the blood, the thick goo of it.

But I also mean it the sense that I hold myself back from forming normal relationships with people. From forming those lasting friendships you read of in books. In my world, nothing is permanent. Nothing lasts, the least of all myself. Is it morbid of me to think and know that I will die? When is the question here. Nothing else. It has been far too easy for me to drift away from friends for me to believe that friendships last decades down the line. If they do, they are changed and not the same. I can’t make that promise that we will be friends when we are in our fifties. Just like I don’t think I could promise to love someone for my limited eternity. That implies that I live that long, that you live that long, and that we are still talking. And a hundred other variables come into play. Nothing lasts in my world, and so I look at certain institutions and wonder ‘why bother?’.

This is self destructive, I know it. But I don’t know if I have ever been happy. If it’s that temporal mixture of laughter and high that last while I am in company of others and that dissipates the next moment, then happiness would be superficial. And I don’t think it is, but merely that I have never felt it.

I hate myself. I hate that I have the need to put up fronts, to pretend. There’s this floating idea that we are civilized, cultured (what does that even mean. We all have freaking cultures.) and rational. We don’t act like beast because we are humans. I believe that to be as fake and superficial as everything else. There is a part of me that is perverse and base, the part of me that was hurt so badly as a child by some anonymous woman who didn’t even know what she was doing. I know her initials; all I know are her fucking initials. And I am so afraid and cautious of the pain she could inflict on me and what I could do [in retaliation or self defense], that I form an instant wall against anyone who shares her name. She was too caught up in her own pleasure and happiness to see what she was doing. And I don’t want to begin to fathom what he was thinking. But the painful truth was that I wanted to hurt them so bad I saw blood. In my mind, blood flowed in hundreds of ways. There was no care for ethics or human life or any other honorable thought; merely a hurt child expressing pain in imaginary actions. I felt so disgusted with myself.

Now, I feel disgusted with what I have become. I wish I were a better person; I am not.

That was me, without my humanity. My basest self seeks to cause pain and inflict pain on myself and others. Because here’s the thing: I have been building walls ever since. I built them prior, but never as thick. And the problem with building high, towering walls of granite and brick is that you block out the sun. I am so scared of things I keep a ridiculous amount to myself. I break information about myself into jigsaw bits and scatter them to different people. So that if someone cared enough, he/she could find all the pieces. But no one would be given them all. A hundred locks with a thousand possible keys. That's how twisted I am. I don’t trust anyone not to hurt me; I expect it. I couldn’t hurt them, so I take it out on myself.

All this need to help out in charities? Nothing fucking altruistic about that. I do it to make myself feel better, to make myself feel as though I contribute something to the world. Because without it I am faced with the most daunting questions of my own existence:

 what is my purpose in living?

And should I bother?

I’m surviving; I’m pushing myself to survive each day. I dread the day when I ask myself why I bother.

And does that sound as blame? Take it as you will. I think things have become so ingrained in me that my actions are no longer carried on by that particular episode of my life. I think I am so used to having these walls around me that they have become a part of me. I have grown into my walls, like crawling moss. Like the lady in the wallpaper, the walls are me. And if they were ever removed, who knows what grotesque creature lives behind the crumbling stone? And god, who could love it. It’s sick, twisted and deformed. It resembles nothing.

If I tried, if I stared at the mirror long enough I think I could start seeing the cracks and chips of a breaking soul. But I dare not look too deep. I don’t know if I can face myself, the part of me. I can’t face that younger, twisted side of me. Not yet. She’s frightening. I’m frightening.

Yet I have this need to keep prodding at the walls. Sooner or later several things are likely to happen. I could wait for someone to ram through the walls, and hope that they are strong enough to hold her off. If I push hard enough, I could bring it all crumbling down and confront her for myself. Or the crumbling walls could crush either of us and free the other from the chains that bind us together. Or I could just keep strengthening the walls, so I can pretend to continue my so called life while the darkest recesses of me remain hidden and chained and imprisoned.

I can just imagine a room full of psychoanalysts having a field day trying to dissect all of this. As it is, I question my sanity.



[edit] talking about Lady in the Wallpaper :

we are a product of our society. but I personally think it is ignorant to shift all blame to your environment. society isn't an excuse. you contribute to who you are too.

It feels like I stabbed myself with a serrated knife. The handle drips in blood. And the process of pulling it out hurts even more; with each tug, another cut, another scar. But that's the way to get it out, to bear the unbearable pain. I have to get this out of me if I am to move on but I'm too cowardly to do it, I lack the guts to face my own fears and monsters. So I leave it half protruding out of my body, hidden beneath the ordinariness of my clothes.

"There is a difference between nothing and no thing. Nothing implies the existence of something--nothing."

This was today:

I woke up with the heavy feeling of loneliness settling around me. I had that reoccurring thought that we are by very nature individualistic beings, venn diagrams that don't intersect. I was thinking in the train how of hard people try not to accidentally brush up against the random stranger next to them. How we give them as wide a breath as we can. And that in KL there are close to 7 million people, and in this over crowded train station there must be close to a thousand. How would we find anyone here? How often do we pass by people we once knew, or people we will met later in the future, and how often do we miss them by seconds? In this over populated world, I felt alone.

The irony of it all was when I bumped into a friend on the escalator.

look away.

For the love of God people, learn how to write a proper research paper. You don't cite blogs. You don't even look at them when writing your paper. And About.com is not a good source! We are in degree, and this is a research paper. Please learn this so I don't have to actually pull out my hair.

I'm sorry, so sorry I have to say this, because I know not everyone had the wonderful opportunity to learn English as a first language, but please, don't plagiarize or think that changing or adding two words counts paraphrasing. Its not. You can't even copy a paper you wrote before---you can't plagiarize yourself. If I have to go through years of this, I'm going to be horrible and picky and am actually going to choose my teammates on writing ability. Or I am just going to do solo work.

edit: LINKS TO A SITE YOU DIDN'T CITE? WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO WITH THEM?
There, got it out of my system. End of my horribly biting, insensitive rant.

I wish I could explain why I am starting to feel sad again, that heavy feeling that doesn't dissipate. I wish I knew.

At the very least, I had a good interim.

it isn't easy to watch yourself grow disillusioned of the things you once believed in. To look at the institutions of society, and to realize that they must be flawed because they are man-made. To realize that they are degrading. They are the ideal constructs and systems we set on how a society should function. Laws are not full proof, they do not protect everyone, and they are not always just. Laws and law makers are on the search for justice, for fairness, but can we achieve such states? Ideals are by definition something you strive to reach for but never do. The star you can't touch. Plato speaks of this search for ideals, the search for the true form and definition. But what if it is our ideals that limit us from creating working institutions?

And then to realize, even with the crumbling of institutions we are taught to put all our hopes in, people still try regardless. I am losing my belief in the institution of marriage for example, and while I admire it, I question if it works. Because its a social contract. Most of us define what a marriage or a relationship should be by the norms of our society. I see relationships fail; I see those same people try again. I have to wonder at the resiliency of mankind, and how desperate we are to not feel alone.

the other day in class we looked up the etymology of the word 'happy'. the root word hap- originally meant chance, good fortune, or an unforeseen occurance.

today I decided to look up 'sad'. How ironic to find out it originates from the root word sated, meaning enough or sufficient.

How ironic pejorations and ameliorations can be. I remember learning that nice used to mean fool, and that naughty was once equivalent to evil. They were my favourite examples of the evolution of word meanings. I used to joke with a friend that it was possible to insult someone without their knowledge by calling them nice.

but sadness and satisfaction? The contrasting words bring up a strange thought: do we in a sense, sometimes seek sadness and misery? do we find satisfaction in feeling down? are we in turn, pleased that we are miserable creatures, do we take pleasure in moping about our pain and depressed states? it is a compelling question, especially since we so rarely try to escape from the ditches we dig for ourselves.

How far do we dig before the air gets too thick to breathe? Before we choke on our own breath?

blood donations, lamb pita, deep conversations, and the stressful rush to finish one's assignments before the clock strikes twelve. What a day. 

the list of books I bought today

I'm ridiculously giddy over the books I bought today. which inclusive of a Rm150 coupons, totaled up to RM250--which means yay, I only had to pay roughly a RM100. The history geek in me is happy.

Ancient Inventions.
Greek Fire, Poison Arrows, and Scorpion Bombs: Biological and chemical warfare in the ancient world
Art, A New History.
From Socrates to Sartre: The Philosophic Quest
The Philosophical Life
The Oxford History of Medieval Europe

not for light consumption.

In the following exist the presumption that there is a God and that he created Man, and my limited understanding of my own faith. You are warned, nonetheless.

you mentioned the Garden of Eden, and how to be created with the ability to sin is flawed. Inherited sin and so on.

And I realized I never questioned the assumption of inherited sin, perhaps because it is so ingrained in Catholicism. I never questioned man's ability to sin; by and large it was a fact of life for me because it is so prominent in our lives. I accepted that we could, and so that we must re-compensate for this. It is interesting to see how much I accept on fate. Bear in mind I an no means threatened nor defensive, but merely trying to expand my own understanding and organize my thoughts. I in no ways intend this to be a religious debate. I can't say or argue for or against Christianity in another point of view because I lack the knowledge to do so. My mom's side of the family is Catholic, and up until the last 10 to 5 years, not particularly devout. God fearing, church going people, but not ones to be particularly strict. But it was the world I was raised in, so to say. I wasn't baptized as a baby, on the contrary my dad believed that such a momentous choice as religion should be left to an age when you understood what you were getting into. And if you chose something else, or chose not to believe, so be it. He was Buddhist as is the rest of his side of the family. Like your average Catholic kid however, I went for Sunday classes even with the exception that had to sit out on Communion and Confirmation and occasionally went to the temple. When I was home schooled my Bible Studies books were Protestant in nature, so if I do jumble things up, do excuse me. I have a rather liberal view on religion too, so you might have to forgive that while you are at it. There are premises in Catholicism that I don't  particularly agree on, such as the how confession is necessary for all (rather selfishly for me, I like to think I can talk to God and ask for forgiveness directly without going through a channel) and like what you said, that non-Christians are condemned to a hellish after life (again, for selfish reasons). In trying to understand the second however, I am relearning it. Have I been told it often? Yes. But I haven't thought about it recently, and so never took the initiative to look it up in depth until now. As a kid, I remember my mom telling me that in the end we all stand by the gates of heaven are are judged by our actions, and that if there was leniency, it would be for the non-believers. Christians who knew the laws and still committed sin were more likely to be punished. And I am guessing this was much more easier than telling your kid that her dad and grandmother and friends were going to burn in a pit of fire. I remember her saying later on that Vatican II had changed this; I'm trying to find more information on this [found. read Edit]. Personally, I believe that a mere belief in Christ doesn't save you if your sins are without regret; similarly, a lack of belief because one chose not to believe or was never exposed to Jesus doesn't condemn a person, if they live a virtuous life and am sorry for the wrongs committed.

Edit: 1260 "Since Christ died for all, and since all men are in fact called to one and the same destiny, which is divine, we must hold that the Holy Spirit offers to all the possibility of being made partakers, in a way known to God, of the Paschal mystery."⁶³ Every man who is ignorant of the Gospel of Christ and of his Church, but seeks the truth and does the will of God in accordance with his understanding of it, can be saved. It may be supposed that such persons would have desired Baptism explicitly if they had known its necessity." (Vatican, 'Catechism for the Catholic Church') 


"Nor is God far distant from those who in shadows and images seek the unknown God, for it is He who gives to all men life and breath and all things, and as Saviour wills that all men be saved. Those also can attain to salvation who through no fault of their own do not know the Gospel of Christ or His Church, yet sincerely seek God and moved by grace strive by their deeds to do His will as it is known to them through the dictates of conscience. Nor does Divine Providence deny the helps necessary for salvation to those who, without blame on their part, have not yet arrived at an explicit knowledge of God and with His grace strive to live a good life. Whatever good or truth is found amongst them is looked upon by the Church as a preparation for the Gospel" (Vatican, 'Lumen Gentium')

The rites of Catholicism deal by and large with original sin, mortal sin, and venial sin. So here's the best I can summarize from what I have read. To the Catholic Church is goes as such: original sin is what we contracted, different from mortal and venial sin, which are those we commit. The burden of the act of eating the apple and giving into temptation belongs to Adam--that is his personal sin. Before, Adam and Eve were free from death (immortality), free from pain (impassibility), 'freedom for disordered desires' (integrity), and freedom from ignorance (knowledge of what was necessary for happiness). I can't find anything that says if they knew what evil was and choose behave in a goodly manner, nor the opposite. I read an article that suggest that it was the act of craving the apple, the sudden lust, pride and material want that filled Eve that was the catalyst.  This sudden entrance of feelings that were not present prior. In any case, Adam and Eve did fall into temptation and as such there was sin and death. If this is what you meant by paying for things inherited that we didn't do, yes. The Catholic idea is that we are wounded, not destroyed by sin, and thus (to put it crudely) salvageable. And the closest illustration I could find is this:
"Likewise, one can pass the effects of one’s sins through generations. Let’s say that someone is an alcoholic. His original choice to abuse alcohol could have disastrous effects on his family that can last for generations, including influencing his children and grandchildren to abuse alcohol. This is not because they are guilty of their father’s sin but because dependency on alcohol is the only way they learned to deal with problems. In that way one can say that the sin of the father has been passed down through generations. It is not the actual fault that is passed down but the consequences of the original sinful choice." (http://www.catholic.com)

So if you consider that we no longer live in Eden as punishment, yes. We are paying in that sense. Which I suppose what makes such a great tie in religiously and plot wise to the sacrifice of Jesus.

My thoughts on it are only half formed, but here they are, however contradictory. I think we would lose our sense of self if we lived in perfection. I never want to live in a Utopia, simply because if everything was good and happy I wouldn't know enough to appreciate it because I wouldn't have sadness to compare it to.  If all you ever knew was a world of good, a true Utopia, an Eden where you frolicked and cared not for consequences because there were none, then your actions wouldn't be truly good, but merely a reaction for not knowing anything else but sinless action. We wouldn't be making the choice to do good, it would also be as forced on us in ignorance. Because there is no option to do a wrong, to commit a sin. Instead we do the right thing because its the only option. Would we understand our own actions?

If I suddenly decided to snort cocaine, yes I want a slap in the head. It would be wrong to stand and not do something. But you have removed the choice from me to decide. The intent however would still be there, because I didn't make the executive decision to not snort cocaine; what's to say I wouldn't attempt it later?
Don't we learn from our mistakes more so than when we get something right? Say I tried to learn how to swing a bat. At the very least we can eliminate what we did wrong, the wrong moves I made. But if I did hit the ball, how do I repeat the action? how do I determine what exactly I did right to repeat the action again?

We are on a constant pursuit for perfection in all its glory. We ourselves display perfectionist traits, because perhaps we find ourselves lacking in it. There's this hollowness, the void we need to fill with outward perfection. If we were able to create beings, we would try to create them in such a way that they would be perfect. We wouldn't want our creations to carry flaws. I don't know how true this is for others, but for me personally, my mistakes often turn out for the best. A wrong brush stroke turns the dull into something else all together.

by the way: Abraham's Bosom. 

blank pages. pages ans pages of nothing. there's so much that i want to write, but find myself hesitating.

it's easier to sleep my day away than to open my eyes and face the loneliness of my reality.

Note to self: never lie to yourself and think that perfection is an achievable state. Nothing truly can be; its hard enough to match one's own ideals, but to do so also in the eyes of others? Should this even be the measure for perfection? Admiration of others? It would be a chase in which you would lose your very sense of self. I'm trying very hard to remember this---that a perfect state does not exist in the mortal realm.

Do we all go through stages of disillusion? do we all feel the need to rip apart the seams of our own worlds, to test our own boundaries, until at the very end there is only the core of who we are?

On an entirely different note, I started thinking about The Little Prince again.

"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"

And a little later you added: "You know--one loves the sunset, when one is so sad . . ."

"Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"

But the little prince made no reply.

metathinking.

Is it possible to get so caught up in thought, in general, abstract terms that one forgets distinct incidents that otherwise contradict the basis of one's belief? I wonder if I have been so absorbed in finding something to blanket all that I know to justify the action's of other's in my mind; rolling around in philosophical ideas of human behaviour so I can sleep better at night 'knowing' to some extent that there is so grain of goodness in us all. In actuality am I trying to justify things I can't possibly understand?

A revision of my thought processes is necessary. Perhaps it would be better to say we have the capacity, the predisposition for goodness, and thus, for what society terms as 'wickedness/evilness' as well. Its even vaguer than before. I'm at square one. I need more reading material on this.

Say we learn most of what we believe to be right and just from Society and Culture; we might disagree with certain principles, but society and culture lay the foundation for our preconceptions of what behaviour and actions are good. While that allows for the rationalization and questioning of these learnt 'laws', where does it leave the rest of us who don't question? Who don't demand answers?

So does Society and Culture demand that we do not kill a fellow human being? In most cultures, yes. Not every, but most. But the idea that we might not form this consciousness, this superego as Freud would term it, unless the cultural context in which we live in provides us with these laws is rather daunting. The lack of thinking and reasoning of why we do what we do leaves a Deterministic tone--without thought, are we at the whim of our upbringing? Or do we innately know the value of human life? Yet there is slavery, genocides, cannibalism. Do they not show a disrespect for human life? If there is a biological part of us that knows it is wrong to take another human life unless it is out of self defense, how would one explain the aforementioned trio?

 Let us put aside those who suffer from sociopathic disorders, schizophrenia or what have you. In a less gruesome example, if Society and Culture made it alright to lie, would we actually believe it to be wrong?

A bit of a rant I suppose. I'm watching The Pianist, and am greatly affected by the movie, even knowing roughly some of the reasoning the Nazis had. There has to be a reason such a mass of people behaved the way they did---did they all do it with no nagging guilt eating at their hearts? I don't believe that. Not every one of them, at least. And what of Stalin's regime? In any case, I'll post a revision of sorts of this post in the morning when I can think straight. Sleep deprivation does wonders to the brain.

If I could, I would pretend that I am unaffected. That your voice and words do not echo through my days.

On a different train of thought, I am over it. I have been for a while now. And I have to wonder at how persistent your dislike for me is. But the thing is I realized last year that people will hurt me. It’s invertible. We hurt those around us, intentionally or not. We might not seek to cause them pain, but we do. It’s the porcupine’s dilemma that those closest to it would be the one it hurts the most.  I expect those close to me to hurt me, and I know they may mean it and may not mean to as well. I have hurt others and been hurt. To some, I have been an absolute cold hearted bitch that just forgets those around her when they are of no more importance. And you may be are right and justified in believing that. But I also know that people will make judgments, assumptions and accusations without the full picture even if I did play by the rules.  Even if I did the right thing, not everyone will look at such acts in a pleasant light. Even those closest to us can make quick assumptions about our behavior and accuse us of doing wrong, of hurting others whether we did so or not. So really, why would I want to fight your judgments and public opinion when there is little I can do to control what you think? You are free to believe whatever you want to. To see me in whatever light makes it easier for you. Fit me into whichever stereotype that allows your world to function. In the meanwhile, I’ll be living my life according to the rules I believe in. I’m choosing not to withdraw from potential hurt, but to allow that they will come. You are free to believe what you want of me.  

I wonder if you realize I am over it. If you realize that in many ways, I have forgiven you for hurting me. I'll never trust you to the extent I did before, but I don't hate you. I can't hate you for being who you are and having your own motives. I may wish you would have considered things from my perspective and been a better friend, but I don't expect you to. At some point I realized that you have trouble doing that; stepping into the shoes of others and remaining there even when you feel uncomfortable. So while I wish you were more, you are who you are. 

I'm still wide awake.

 “What if all the beautiful people were disgusting, and the prettier the more disgusting? We would have a totally different view of beauty then.”

Ju: “…First we would have to define disgusting.”

I have been having variations of this conversation with others (and my own very noisy brain) over these past few days. How do we define a trait? How do we decide how to categorize people into little clusters based on a selection of characteristics? Stereotypically, an extrovert is seen to be outgoing, ready to try new things, someone who loves having company. But why can’t an extrovert also be shy and feel alone in the world? Must they always be bold and friendly in new situations? Why can’t an extrovert enjoy singular yet adventurous sports? Why can’t an introvert be bold and outspoken? Who decided that if you were one, you could not be the other? That Extroversion and Introversion were polar traits that cannot co-exist in a person? Why can’t a person be logical and creative? Shallow and silly in some things yet deep in other ways? Beautiful, yet have disgusting traits? And so on. Psychology allows for so many theories on this, but the one I subscribe to is that personality traits are a continuum—like many fine tuning levels that you can adjust with various possible combinations. Because there aren’t just five or six or eight types of people in the world. Personality tests are helpful, insightful, but sometimes I think they perpetuate stereotypes among those who don’t truly understand that a test cannot measure everything a person was, is and will be. Tests are just guides. The words used to described a person are so general at times, and often a person leaks other categories. Stereotypes are just quick assumptions we make about others because we cant be bothered to take the time to get to truly know them. Instead, we want them to fit the rules and schema of our world and forget that they are unique and contradictory creatures.

But back to the discussion of beauty and disgusting traits. Let us say disgusting traits vary from picking your nose, wearing the same underwear every day without washing it for weeks to things that are socially looked down on and disgraceful. Let us then say that beauty is something that we are attracted to, that is appealing to us. If the beautiful were disgusting, and open about their various flaws and bad habits how drastically will this affect the way we the general public views beauty? Would it change? This is a long stretch but if the media were truthful about the flaws, failures, mistakes and dirty, disgusting things that everyone, even the beautiful commit, would we still have the same obsession with beauty? Would we accept that perfection is a concept, abstract, and indefinable? Would we realize that flaws are normal, and that the beautiful are normal and not some being that can do no wrong? Would we realize in increments that we are beautiful too in our own way? We are obsessed with the lives and scandals of the rich and famous, perhaps because their flaws humanize them to a standard that makes it alright for us to have flaws and make mistakes too. It brings them down to our level, so that they no longer tower over us with their beauty. If imperfections could be accepted as something that lives alongside beauty, would the disgusting be beautiful as well?  Because after all, who said that the pretty can't be disgusting, and the disgusting pretty? Our definitions would change I think, if we can accept such loose concepts. 

i truly do have an inflated sense of self.

You are warned: self absorbed rambles to follow

really, you were warned.

I would like to believe in permanence. It suggests that some things last forever, unchanging and unmoving. That some things will never let you down; you would never have to question permanence. It will always be there, even when you are not. Mind, I am not talking about religion, but the simple idea that building, love, people, ourselves, ideas and what not can last forever. Permanence is dependable, however dull the word is. But then I realize I don’t believe in it. Friends, family, they all come and go and that is just the way it is. One day, our mind will go. Ideas evolve. I don’t believe in living by the concept of seizing the everyday as if it is your last, as if you could be gone by the next sunrise. Yet I’m no Little Prince, believing I can leave and return later to an unchanged rose. I need not travel to other worlds to realize I can never expect to return to the same place I came from. Every day I wake up in a different world; a new world (for better or worse) than the night before.

Nothing lasts forever because what is forever? A limited understanding of the infinite? We think our actions so great, our problems so vast, our troubles so mind boggling, but it and us are nothing but specks. Dust. We are dust and so are our ‘great’ worries and concerns. Our tears will evaporate, but all our tears collected would not make a cloud. We are arrogant, egotistical creatures to believe Mother Nature can’t live without us. But where was I? Oh, yes we are impermanent. We are temporary. We change, with each thought, each action, and then we are never the same again.

I’ve never felt that sense of immortality they say we feel at this age; on the contrary, I have always felt conscious of my own mortality. I have never forgotten how easy it could be to die. I am not afraid of death; I’ve seen myself die in many ways. I’ve never imagine myself living over forty. You know those day dreams we have of our future? Of our future family and lives, and what we will be like? Never over forty. I don’t know if that’s strange. Does everyone do that?

Today I suppose has been a thought provoking day. I have been thinking on who and what I am, who and what makes others who they are. I was thinking of what a friend said the other day, of how people used to come up to her and tell them all their problems and how she didn’t know exactly why. And I thought to myself then, yes, I used to have friends come up to me too. But then today I realized there is a distinct difference between those whom listen to the problems of others and those who are empathetic. And you may think of course, well that’s obvious. They are two different things. But it had not occurred to be that sometimes, maybe, we seek out both those types of people. I have never been empathetic. In fact, talking to me is probably like talking to a rubber wall, I understand what you are saying and can repeat it back to you from a different angle, but I don’t feel what you feel. I see where you are coming from, but I am not in your shoes. There are those who can come across as though they feel every drop of emotion in your soul, as though your problem was theirs. Going to the extreme of thinking you should feel every drop of their emotion too, even on the days when they are swimming in so much of feelings they can’t see or think of yours/others. I have met extremes and in-betweens of both. And I hope you understand that you are both, and how precious it is to feel. How special a gift you have that you can feel for others, be so much of a comfort to others, and yet still give sound advice.

And this is the part that I could not articulate earlier today; I am the least empathetic person I know. I regurgitate facts. I have a good memory for facts, but so what? Perhaps the image that has been coming off these past few days has been misleading; I am not as well read as you think. I have hardly read as many literary classics as you have implied. I bits and pieces of what’s happening in class because I love mythology, and have made some kind of hobby to read up on it. If Wikipedia did not exist I would know next to nothing. By the end of this course, we would be evenly matched. What then to be envious about? I am envious of your passion for music, for art and how even at your lowest you still find the strength to stand back up. I am not a passionate being; I have many interests but none that I am truly master of. You are flawed and so is everyone else. You are special, and creative, and wonderfully present in life. You have an honesty about you and how you live your life that I envy. I wish I knew of ways to help bring some cheer into your life, but as I said, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what people want to hear. 

there are days where I wake up and I wonder who I am. I know who I am supposed to be. I think I'll never figure out who I am.


On an unrelated note, I make an awesome oven baked chicken.