Some will run, others will walk; but they all move anyway.

Lately I've been up reading till the wee hours of the morning, even more so than usual.

I start reading a book sometime around midnight, and end up reading it until sunrise. Yesterday, I finished two books in one go - but then again, I started reading the first book in the afternoon.

I wonder what it is that makes me so obsessive about reading these books. I don't think I love books more than I did a few weeks or months ago, so that can't be it.

Perhaps it's just because I feel like I have to rush through it because I don't have enough time anymore, because I'm leaving soon, because my life will change and I'm not sure what's going to happen next. Somehow, reading at a leisurely pace, night after night after night, just isn't going to do it for me anymore.

I'm quite sure that most people who are about to leave their country for a long period of time will feel this strange, harried feeling. Like they have to tie loose ends, get some closure from various ongoing events in their lives.

Not that reading books needs closure, I just feel like I have to go fast, and then ever faster, or else I will not have enough time to finish the book - despite the fact that I will have time to read on the plane, and in the airport at Seoul, and even in the US. I might even have more time than I do now.

So why this harried feeling? It's not the end of the world, nor the end of time. I'm just going to study somewhere else, far from home and friends and family and the life I have here. I'm not speeding to any ending that I can perceive, unless time is an ending of some sort.

Strange that I stare at the random objects in my room, and not feel sad... yet. These are things that have, in their inanimate ways, watched me grow up. Well, some of them, at least. And most of them will have to be thrown away, or stored in boxes, most likely never to be seen again.

I'm not sure I'm going to relish the moment when I stand in the middle of an empty room, and realize once and for all that I'm leaving. Not for a three-week vacation, or a short-lived break, but rather for a long, long time. Well, a year feels long before you live it, and feels short once it's gone. So right now, a year is a long time.

I don't know what's going to happen next. I guess I'll have to learn how to be happy in a new place, in a different country, in a new life. But like I keep telling myself, I need this change. I need to be out of my comfort zone for once. I need to be a new me, or, failing that, an improved old me. I need to see new things, experience new feelings, and make new mistakes. I need.

But knowing this doesn't ease my burdens. If anything, knowledge makes the burden worse and harder to bear. I can't help feeling harried and uncertain about this self-enforced change in my life, this something between an ending and a beginning.

I don't doubt that I will have fun, fun times though. I'll learn to be more open, learn to let go and discover that there are more things to life than just comfort. Sure, I'll whine and bitch and moan along the way, just like some others would. But I won't roll over and die because of it. There's too much of my life that I still have to live.

Maybe once I've finished all the books that I have left to read before I leave, I'll take a break from reading. Or, at least, try to read less. People rush when they don't have enough time, or feel pressured, or something.

I don't want to rush. I don't want to run just because I see an ending, or because I want to get a head start on what comes after. I have all the time in the world(or at least several decades more, which is an entire lifetime, during which at the end of it I will feel like it was only a fleeting moment).

I want to walk. Slowly, leisurely, at a pace of my choosing. Change is inevitable, but let it change at my pace.

Some choose to run, on and on, not knowing that all move at the same pace. Others choose to walk, and take the time to experience all that is around them, and learn to love, bit by bit, in the seconds and minutes and hours of their walks.

But, at the end of the day, we all reach an ending anyway.

Whether we run or walk, we will always, always reach.

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

RAWR

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO PENANG OMG.

OMGGGG I AM SO FUCKING PISSED LIKE YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE.

OMG SERIOUSLY I HAVE A LOOOOOOOT OF REPRESSED ISSUES REGARDING MY PARENTS.

I can't think of anything to say regarding this, except:

LIKE OMGGGWEORE(REWJIRISDFDISJFSDIJFSDFIJSDF
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AOFAKODFDSOKFSODFSDOFSDOFDSOKFSDOFKDSFOKSDFDSOKFSODOFDKSFOSdsOFDSOSDFOK!!!!!!!!!!

OMGGGGG

I'll miss them when I'm in the US. But there are also things that I won't miss.

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

Living

"Keep in mind that many people have died for their beliefs; it's actually quite common. The real courage is in living and suffering for what you believe."
-Brom, in Eragon

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

Visual Surveillance of Extremities

I don't know why I have trouble writing.

Is it because I lack discipline, or because I lack the skill to do so.

Ideas float in my head, one big mess, just waiting to come out in words and words.

But when I try to write, the words don't appear. I can force them out, but when I read what I've written, I wince at how forced and soulless my work seems.

It is as if I am writing without heart. But how can I write well, if I cannot force the true words to come out, or wait till they do? Because I have forced and waited for so long. Why won't it work?

Are the ideas to blame? Or myself? Or something else?

Maybe I just need to learn how to tell someone else's story, and not my own.

When I write here, everything seems right and well. I write, and write, and write, and when I read what I've written, I may wince at how stupid or idiotic my writing sounds like, but I would still know that it comes straight from the heart.

Odd.

I respect writers, even of books that I think suck. Because somehow they got through this and wrote something that they can truly appreciate.

Sigh...

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

OMFG

OMFG FLIGHT DETAILS CACAT AGAIN.

What kind of travel agent tells us that it's all confirmed then does NOT get the flight tickets issued which means that our tickets are canceled so she re-books the flight and we're on WAITING LIST AGAIN!?

OMG

OMG

OMG

And I just had my mom cancel her secretary's booking! BECAUSE WE THOUGHT THE TRAVEL AGENT HAD EVERYTHING SETTLED.

OMFG

EDIT: WE HAVE A FLIGHT! Mom's secretary didn't cancel our bookings on Friday, apparently. So we still have the 12-hour transit trip through Seoul to Seattle. At least it's a flight.

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

:D

Exams are finally over.

Happy happy happy :D

ps: I win the award for 'Most Mood Swings 2006' :D I think

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

Light

Just watched Gubra again. Found it to be a beautiful movie, both moving and heartening.

And I loved the message in it.

'The lamps are different,
but the light is the same.'
-Rumi

We are all human. Though we may look and act differently on the outside, we are no more and no less human than anyone else.

Within, we are the same, you and I and everyone else.

For all our differences, we are still the same.

We have just as much potential to do good or evil as anyone else.

So we are the same. All human, all lamps, but with the same light.

I wish people could learn that lesson.

To see that light, to accept, to love, to embrace. For we are of the same light.

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

Mood-killer

No mood to be angry already.

Sore throat got worse.
Flu got worse.
Aching bones.
Hope it isn't a precursor for fever.
Or I'd be screwed for exams tomorrow.

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

So fucking miserable

I am so fucking miserable right now. -_-

I have a cold.
I have a really bad sore throat.
I feel weak and lethargic.
I have two exam papers tomorrow.
I haven't studied.
I'm pissed at stuff.
I have a headache.

GAH.

So anyway, my dad told me today to try to spend more time with my mom now that I will be going off to the US soon.

Like, what the fuck?

I don't freakin care. I've been spending time with her like what, for the past fucking two years? And now I need to spend MORE time with her?

I'm just so fucking pissed because he expects me to 'show some face to her' since I'm leaving soon. But the thing is I'M THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN FUCKING LIVING WITH HER FOR THE PAST 2+ YEARS OKAY, DON'T TELL ME THAT I HAVE TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH HER WHEN YOU'VE HARDLY EVEN SPENT TIME WITH HER.

I've spent more time with her than both my father AND my brother COMBINED. For the PAST 2 YEARS. And not that I hate my mom, but I'm just so fucking sick and tired of having to listen to her nagging and her expecting me to do this and do that and do everything and expecting me to accompany her to go out and stuff.

And my dad wants me to consider her feelings; that she'll miss me when I go off to the US.

I'm sorry, but have YOU or ANYONE ELSE considered how I FUCKING FEEL playing substitute for both YOU AND MY BROTHER FOR THE PAST 2 YEARS?

I DON'T THINK SO.

You don't fucking come back because you know that hey, HISHAM'S ALWAYS HOME as your substitute so you don't have to come back.

Don't fucking tell me that you'll come back more next year, you should've been coming back more THIS YEAR. If you can come back more next year, why not this year, or last year? BECAUSE I WAS FUCKING HERE SO YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO, THAT'S WHY.

No one ever fucking cares about how I feel about things because I'm the one who's always fucking there to fucking be on standby for whatever fucking reason.

I DON'T CARE if you think I'm a horrible son now, because it's not like you ever noticed like the PAST 2 YEARS THAT I'VE BEEN A FUCKING GOOD SON.

Like even when getting groceries, I fucking follow mom around and grab whatever I need and some other stuff and then if we don't use the shopping cart I'd carry all the fucking grocery bags to the car then I'd have to drive then when we get home I store most of the stuff we've bought. What does mom do? She just selects whatever she feels like cooking, if she feels like cooking at all which is very rare, and buys her coffee and instant noodles and maybe fruits, and ya that's like it. And pays.

Tell me how many 19-year old teenage sons you know who do that. EVERY WEEK. Not some random freak incident where they somehow decide to follow their mom.

Every fucking week.

Have YOU done that? No. Has my brother ever done that? No.

And who the fuck has to go online and pay the freakin bills?

And who has to clean up the guestroom and prepare the room whenever we'd have guests staying over?

And who gets scolded for the most trivial things like not taking in the mail or not pushing the dining chair in after using in?

And who the fuck has to stay home and water the fucking plants whenever mom goes to visit you in Indonesia so she can go shopping and stay in a nice hotel and eat nice food and go for some pampering at spa?

So don't fucking tell me to 'show face a bit more', because I've been fucking doing that for the past 2 years.

If I don't feel like spending time with her now, IT'S MY CHOICE. I know I'd probably miss my parents when I'm in the US, but right now, this is MY FUCKING CHOICE.

I don't feel like CONSIDERING HER FEELINGS because you and mom have never considered mine.

I'm just that youngest son who's always around so ya take advantage of me all the time la since I have the least power in the house anyway :D So easy right :D

And if I don't want to pick you or mom up at the airport, UP TO ME LA. WHY DO I HAVE TO FUCKING PICK YOU UP IF I DON'T WANT TO.

'because it's not safe for mom to take a cab at night by herself'?

As. Fucking. If.

And if I don't feel like doing the driving when we go up north, THEN DON'T MAKE ME. I'D EVEN BE HAPPY IF I JUST HAVE TO DO 50% OF THE DRIVING, but you want me to do ALL THE FUCKING DRIVING ANYWAY.

If I don't fucking feel like going out with you, or going somewhere with you, don't fucking give me that upset look and 'just accompany me la', and get all upset, BECAUSE I DON'T FUCKING WANT TO OKAY SO CAN'T YOU JUST ACCEPT THE FACT THAT SOMETIMES I JUST DON'T WANT TO DO THE THINGS YOU WANT ME TO.

I've told my dad a few times now to tell my mom to back off and let me make my decision if I wanna go out with her or not.

He said he'd talk to her.

Whatever, I don't think he did.

Because HE'S the one giving me the 'spend more time with her' line now, as if I haven't been fucking doing that for the past 2 years.

Okay.

I don't care if you think abang is a better son just because right before he went to the US to study he wanted to spend more time with you two and you two appreciated it. And nowadays whenever he's back he doesn't mind spending time with you and mom.

But I've been doing it for the past 2 years okay. I've been a subsitute for both you and him to 'accompany' mom. Now I just don't want to do it anymore.

I want to sit at home and have dinner BY MYSELF everyday, or with friends.

Because I don't feel like 'showing face' to mom anymore just because of YOUR absence.

I don't feel like 'showing face' because she's 'gonna miss me when I go off'.

I don't feel like 'showing face' because I've been listening to her nagging and complaining for the past 2 years, and as she grows older, her behavior gets worse.

As every day goes by she becomes more and more like those annoying ladies who have to complain at anything and everything, usually over the most trivial matters.

DON'T TELL ME TO CONSIDER HER FEELINGS.

BECAUSE YOU AND MOM HAVE NEVER CONSIDERED MINE ANYWAY.

I am so fucking miserable.

A little 'thank you for being a good son' wouldn't hurt.

Not a 'you need to do more'. Because that hurts.

Because you've never been good parents. You've been good at guiding us, in terms of values and attitude and opinions, but you've been horrible parents.

I think, some part of me is dying over the fact that it's wrong, for me, as a son, to say that my parents have disappointed me.

Parents often say that their children have disappointed them.

And it hurts them, or so it goes.

And so I hurt, because my parents have disappointed me.

I am thankful for all my parents have done for me, but they are not thankful for all that I've done for them.

To them, it's never enough, they always want their son to be a bit better, a bit smarter, a bit more something.

I've been a somewhat good son - not by choice - but they want a perfect son, someone who would never ever get sick of his parents no matter what.

I don't care anymore. I won't be told that I need to 'spend more time with mom', because I'm sick of it. I am sick sick sick. Sick. SICK!

Maybe when you start considering how I feel, I'll resume considering how you feel.

Because all this time, I've been meekly considering how you feel, no matter my personal feelings, and look where's it gotten me. Nowhere.

You told me when you left that we had to make some compromises. I've made mine, why can't mom wake up to the fact that she has to make some compromises too. She can't have her cake and eat it too.

Yup, so fucking miserable indeed.

Read on...

Hide expanded post.

Know. And Hold On

Only 5 days till college graduation.

Almost the end of the college phase, almost the beginning of the university phase.

A new beginning.

A good beginning?

I don't know. I'd found out soon enough, I suppose. Just feel odd. Somehow, it feels like the last transitional phase I went through was only yesterday.

I think I'm obsessing over graduation, though. I think I have the right to :P

Somehow I couldn't care less about my final exams. I'm tempted to not study, and to just go in and hope I manage to bullshit enough to pass in my last three courses here.

Not that I'd do that; I hate feeling responsible, which would eventually force me to start studying.

In the meantime, I've already decided on my outfit for graduation. Funny how I haven't even decided whether I want to study Food Science or American History II first for the exams on Tuesday. They're both on the same day; what a nightmare.

I want to fast forward to Thursday. When the exams are over. I think these exams are different from the ones I've taken before. Because I don't care much about how well I'd do for these papers.

I just need to pass. I've been accepted to my university and my CGPA is gonna get reset anyway, so why do I need to care? I really don't need to care. I hate caring. Because it makes us do things that we don't want to do. Like studying. Mainly studying. Oh, and doing work too.

So all that's organized in my life right now is the fact that I know what to wear for graduation.

Which isn't much, but still more than not knowing.

I guess that's why I love to read.

It makes me learn about a life - not my life, but a life nonetheless. And I know. I know the person, I know what happens, I know how the story ends. I know that there is a happy ever after, a Pyhrric happy ever after, but a victory nonetheless. I know that much is true, that much I can trust in. And I know, and feel the relief from knowing.

Knowing is good. But not all knowing, because knowing with absolute, unshakable certainty is dangerous.

But knowing something small, something almost insignificant, can be a great relief.

Every little bit of the future that we know saves us from a tiny bit of worry today. What shall I wear tomorrow? What shall I do tomorrow? What will happen if I choose this, instead of that? Will I have time to read tomorrow? When we have the answers, however small, however incomplete, our worries disappear by just a tiny fraction.

But humans, like nature, are susceptible to rules. Or norms?

We are strong. Not just strong, but Strong.

But even we will fall under too much pressure. Every time a new burden falls upon us, we tire, we age, and we grow weary that much more. It's what makes us age not just on the outside, but also in our soul, in some place within that we will perhaps never know about, some place untouchable by all - including us - save the troubles and burdens of the world.

Which is why there are old, wearied souls, souls that have seen too much and suffered too deeply. Or young, energetic souls, the life of the party, a person whose mere presence brings injects new life into the world around them.

And that is why, I think, we all have a different way to cope, a different way to remove even just a tiny fraction of that immense burden we constantly bear.

So some of us turn to old habits. Some turn to a person they feel safe with, someone familiar, someone real and there. Some choose to go to a place that comforts them to surround themselves in something familiar and certain. Some turn to God. Some turn to the silence within and scream, cry, rebel in a place where no one else will hear them.

But we all suffer. Quietly, loudly, deeply, mildly, fleetingly, lengthily. However we feel it, it doesn't matter. It's there.

I cope by reading; by experiencing a happy ending vicariously. I cope by knowing small, insignificant details, like what I'm going to wear tomorrow, or next week, or someday. I cope by knowing sitting in the mess of my room, because the mess, in some way, comforts me. Because it's real, and there, and certain, and no amount of cleaning will ever change that.

I cope. Bit by bit. Moment by moment. Detail by detail.

To be fair, life is not always about coping. Sometimes, we can enjoy it. Sometimes we don't have something to cope with.

But most of the time, we cope. Which sucks, a lot.

And in the words of Sarah McLachlan -
Hold on
Hold on to yourself
for this is gonna hurt like hell.

Yeah. This is gonna hurt like hell.

Read on...

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