Loss.

        It's been a hectic week. A call received on Tuesday morning (160413). The kind that I disliked the most. The rush back home. The long wait. The anger and frustration. The responsibility. The lack of sleep. The decision. The last breath in front of me. The uncontrollable fits of cries. The extreme fatigue. The duties. The end. All in one week. It's as though I've aged ten years in a week.

        Then we're back to normal cycle of life. Wake up, study, eat, shit, shower, sleep. As though nothing has happened at all. I dare not think, for I'm afraid of my own thoughts. 

        And because I don't want to burden anyone with my relentless repeats of how miserable I feel, I tried to talk about other stuffs. Then I realised, there's nothing else I want to say. So I become quiet. Mindless. And carrying around air so heavy I can't breathe. The one person I hope to be by my side will never be. The only yearning. Never mind, life goes on.

Nothingness.

      I've always wondered. Is everyone the same in every corner of this world? Someone out there that's like me. Someone that has lost a certain motivation, a kind of momentum that propels you forward. I've literally became the man who can't be moved. I can't figure out what's wrong.

      I was never the shadow. Never the bench-warmer. I'm always offering myself. Enjoying the limelight. Whatever. Now all I want to do is to hide under my blanket. Willing the time to pass. Willing my tomorrows be lesser than yesterdays. It's wrong isn't it. Am I not at an age whereby I fight fiercely for my dreams? Am I not at an age whereby I run so quickly, without stopping, even when my chest is panting for breath, hurts like acid is poured into my lungs as I run (not that I know how that feels, just think that it probably hurts like Hades). Moving. Not static. What is wrong? I stare at my lecture notes, my journals, my unfinished literature review. The only time I feel like oh I'm moving is when I'm doing labwork. When I see the cells under the microscope. Other than that, I'm no different from any person that lived in Bedlam before. Simply staring into the space and allow time to pass. I'm scared. But I'm not scared enough to move. What should I do?

None of my business.

        It had been a week full of turmoil and emotional roller coaster. But hey, it's not about me. First it's the kids' posters day. Looking at them, being gancheong for them. Some get heck-cares by mentor. Some heck-care themselves. I must have looked like one of them last year. Before I turn my back and jump into the abyss anyway. While being around for the kids, I started to reminiscence. About how things were one year back. And how things are now. Anyway in the end everyone survived. And hooray! But none of my business since none of them is my student anyway.

         Then here comes my CA. I have nothing to talk about this actually. Just read through go through take CA. Yahoo. Won't fail I guess. And oh yeah, the stats assignment. I'm not done with it yet. Sigh.

          And at this time of the week you'll think that everything is going really well, right? With the long weekend creeping in. And I thought the ambience in lab was really amicable this week.

          I realised I can't write a word. About how I feel. Because the whole thing is really none of my business and no big deal. But I feel so shit, so shit, that I don't have any adjectives to describe my feeling. So I use a noun, shit. I feel like a pile of dung. Shit. Feces. Excrement. Whatever. But all I remember and all I know is I did nothing to deserve this. But here comes those optimists, it's not about you, you know. People make their own choices. You know they said when you meet with shit stuffs outside, you could go home. But not for me eh? I'm too scared to go home. Because going home always disappoints me. But guess what, staying right here disappoints me to the core too.

           But hey, I learnt something. It doesn't matter if you stop expecting stop asking anything from a person. Sometimes your mere presence irks the person. What can I ask for really? Friendship is the most worthless thing ever, because it doesn't mean anything, it doesn't give you right to feel anything, it isn't bound by anything, promises, whatever. Anything. So when we could choose the role we want to play, being a douche suddenly seems to be the best idea ever. Because whatever.

沉默。

沉默。

我喜歡你什麼 ，為何我總是不說？
你討厭我什麼 ，你從來顯得淡默。

我只能喜歡沉默。在暗夜裡我獨自遊走。我討厭被捆綁，反鎖，漆黑中摸索。哭有什麼用？
我只能保持沉默。在暗夜裡我跟著影子走。躲有沒有用？沒有用。
我們都習慣沉默。享受暗夜裡一個人遊走。誰喜歡被捆綁。反鎖。漆黑中摸索？哭根本沒有用。
你為何選擇沉默？為何暗夜裡不讓我跟你走? 不想被你遺忘。躲也沒有用。

沉沒吧。沒必要一直是拉扯的。等誰先開口說， 卻沒下落 。

Long time no hear nice chinese song. Not bad.

Grow up.

Growing up. It meant lots of different things to different people. Learnt a new word today. Multifarious. Apt for that sentence. Haha, okay that's lame. You know today I realised something. I realised growing up means, it's hard to care for someone. But, it is so much harder to pretend you don't care, when that is all you want to do in the world. Why can't my life be easier? Why can't I be more honest? What have I got to lose? Before I lose anything, I've lost everything already.

Pep-talk.

         Chinese New Year passed by in a glimpse. It was peaceful, enjoyable, though not that exciting anymore. Guess I ain't that young anymore eh? Soon it's the most commercialised festival of the year, Valentine's Day. None of my business, really. Then it's my "day", which I can't help but feeling like to avoid it. Not cause I fear the ageing, nope. Just an awkward day where everyone is awkward. Just another day.

           Forgotten why I started this post. Hmmm.. Oh I just finished climbing 26 floors at one go. Bad stamina really, but going to persevere and hope I can get fitter. Then..? Maybe train alongside Bro before he joins the army. Sometimes I feel sorry for him, cause I just can't be like those gentle, caring, demure sisters depicted in every possible scenarios. But I'm me, so bad luck for you, Bro.

            The post is called pep-talk. So I guess I'm gonna pep-talk myself. I'm 24, not much achievements up-to-date except for a degree in hand. That's all really. And I've been wasting the past 9 months wallowing in self-pity, initially because I don't understand, followed by "Oh.." and then "Should I..."... and these sorts of stuffs. But after tested very discreetly (at least IMHO) for a few times, I agreed that I think too much. Borrowing a statement from a friend, that's not my fruit tree. Not only that, don't think the tree even flower (for me) in the first place. Must have mistaken some other people's tree as my own. Ah, it must be a 桜木, only for admiring. Touche.

             So despite warnings like "You're gonna regret if you never try", "Why can't you just forsake your ego and be honest?" and stuffs like that, I still am not gonna try. Why? Call me a coward. Or nothing. But not going to do anything doesn't mean that I completely eliminated the tree. I just allow it to grow at some hidden place, so that one day if the tree intends to flower, I'll still be there. Hopeless much? Whatever. (I've been using whatever a lot lately. I always think it's rude. Maybe I'm getting rude.) On a side note, I don't understand why people act out of courtesy. Not that I'm asking people to be rude. But under private scenarios, maybe people can try and well, be sincere, rather than courteous.

             Now, I know that I've been static for months. I need to move forward. I need to know why I chose this path in the first place. I need to recover my passion. So from now on, watch me. I'm going to warm you with passion. I'm going to keep searching, because my dream is to be a researcher. Someone said to me, it's a marathon. So instead of burning out, I'm going to do it a step at a time, warming myself. There's this picture I saw that day, the difference between 0.99 and 1.01. There you go, I'm going to step out of my shell and give that extra 0.01 everyday. ファイト！

  

 

Poem.

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint

And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.


Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen.”
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower


What a poem.