Adult Child

A couple of nights ago, Nins and I were on the pavement, legs crossed and folded to our chests, eyes trained forward into bleak futures, our surrounding air filled with wisps of smoke spiraling out of our mouths and words of pained musings imbuing the humid air.

We were a couple of messed up girls in pajamas talking about our reality.

It feels so nice to know that you are not alone in your suffering. Our rickety paths may be different, but our thoughts on how fucked up everything is coincides.

We both have a mutual dislike for adults, ever since we knew each other five years ago.

I saw how teachers mistreat students who needed help and she saw how counselors truly messes with your mind.

It is so easy for them to say things, to suggest things, to advise things but so difficult to put themselves in a person's shoes and realise how challenging it is.

Why should they put themselves in a child's shoes? They no longer fit.

How high and mighty they are to dictate what we should feel. How arrogant they are to control our lives. How pathetic they are to stumble over their words when they notice how dire the situation is for us.

Irregardless of that, they all have the same underlying thoughts.

These kids are the screwed up youths of the future.

Workforce

Guess who is starting her attachment this Monday?

Das right.

Me.

Throughout this entire week preparing for myself for my internship (more so mentally), I find nervousness and anxiety overwhelming my excitement. There is no explanation for this.. fear.

And it is pissing me off.

Wai the fuck am I nervous? This is not rocket fucking science - Me to Nini

I took so long to email my Liaison Officer, twice as long to email my Company Supervisor.

I am definitely not prepared.

Probably because I have a classmate who will be my colleague and it makes me iffy? I never liked working with people I know. A sense of professionalism is gone because they know me personally.

There's also an incessant fear of messing up. Like, what if I cause losses for the company? What if they find me lacking compared to my classmate? What if I decide to shoot myself before I can even find out?

Ugh.

I need to pull myself together.

Distress Signal

There's a certain image I wish to upkeep.

Fearless, nonchalant.

However, my foundations are getting shattered day by day, threatening to crumble and fall. In this game of reality, there's only me and other innocent parties left. Everyone involved changed their phone numbers and ran away from life whereas I refused to.

Why should I give in to people I have no connections with? Just because they are causing a nuisance to my life? Causing a nuisance to others' lives? It takes so much more than that for me to give up my identity.

Everyone could do it but I have too much at stake to give up my life for a future of isolation, seclusion and solitude.

I can't do that anymore.

I have a life now, I have friends now, I have school and an impending job now.

I can't lose them when I've only just grown into the world.

But I'm getting fearful. They're starting to scare me.

How dare they make me afraid.

It'll be so easy, too easy to just leave and severe all ties. Although the fact that I'll be looked at like a pariah afterwards does not settle well with me.

I'm really at a loss. I don't know what to do.

Whistles from freedom

"Our finals are over! Guess who's calling?"
"Freedom!" 

And I felt it. The whistles and sweet lulls of it calling me from beyond the classroom doors but the moment I stepped out, my right hand trembling in aches from the deduction of law cases, I expected the calls to surround me, the excitement to fill me.

But it evades me.

Like the fool that I was, I fell into the siren song and what greeted me beyond the four walls were my reality. It embraced me with inky darkness muttering words of welcome and invaded my senses 'till every single positive thought I had dissipates into the void.

My new perspective fought her hardest against it, encouraging me to be okay and to be strong but how do I do that when all my five senses were overwhelmed with the dread of going back into what my own personal hell was?

I snapped at my mother, giving her a glimpse of what dwells within me and she cried for me, for what I've become. I cried for myself, crying for the girl who I really was because it'll take strength and so much more to win the war against the nemesis.

The day was sunny but I felt bone-chilling cold seep through my bones, along with the outburst of pain I've withheld since the start of final exams, gushing forward excitedly to claim what it missed the most.

My soul.

Sensei

I feel extremely disappointed at myself for not being able to sympathize with a kid who never had as much exposure as I had when I was 9 years old. I should be able to teach someone so young with the knowledge I've accumulated but I just can't find the patience in me to wait and to educate. I just can't help someone who shows no intention on helping himself and I feel like I've failed as a human being in that aspect.

I feel selfish and indifferent when I said what I said to the kid.
Hey, I have my own homework to do. 
The 3 words you've written, why don't you just submit it? Since you can't think of anything else. 

Why am I a monster?

Snide

"I think, before I gave birth to her, I drank too much sour plum juice." 
"Why?"
"Her face is always so sour." 

At this point, I feel like a broken record. What other complaints and rants could I possibly have other than myself? When will I ever write quality posts about the world and my thoughts? When will I stop this shitposting because I need to realise how irrelevant I am.

If she could just impart those motherly instincts that she often talk about (brag about) to me, maybe she could understand why I am so angry, so hurt. She would talk about how she could feel her heart drop when the boys are hurt or in pain, but it doesn't seem like it works for me. Every single day, I feel this bone deep ache and she can continue about her day, without ever stopping to ask whether I am okay.

One look at my face and she goes into a tirade of how I need to understand them. They need the help, the support. She feels them, empathizes with them.

But I am never a part of that equation. When I wanted to die, she went ballistic on me. She called me an ingrate for not cherishing my life. He laid his hands on me and walked out, leaving me behind like forgotten trash.

When they messed up their lives, they were both angry and disappointed but so concerned, so supportive. When they felt down and about with life, we went to counselling as a family to seek help. Us three put our all into helping them get back to their feet.

They've grown up into adult men, guided by the love of our parents.

And I'm still 11 years old.

Rant: 20170501

"You're still angry at me from yesterday? Your whole body language portrays anger."
"I'm not angry."
"You are."
"I'm hurt."
"Okay, fine. Hurt."

Hurt does not equate to anger. Anger, is a strong feeling of rage. When I'm angry, I snap. I throw things around, I want to hurt things because I'm angry and inflicting pain on others will take the edge away. What I am is hurt. I am in pain. I withdraw within myself because when the air hits me, I bruise.

"You're always angry at me, always angry at the world." 

I'm never angry at you. I'm just so disappointed, so pained because you can never understand all these feelings I have because I don't matter to you. You lump all my emotions as anger because that's the easiest to deal with. When you think I'm angry, you turn my anger towards myself because why can't I ever be grateful? But when I tell you I'm not angry but some other emotion, you dismiss it away because you have no idea how to damage control. All my sadness is permeating this house and it's nauseating so you get me to stop but I can't stop because I know now that I'm not someone who matters.

When I'm angry at them, you take on the role of the villain so that my anger will be directed towards you but you forget that you matter to me so it'll never work but you still throw your life away for them, shielding them from my hate and you just show how much you love them and I will lose even if I win because I will never have you throw your life away for me like that and that at the end of the day, whether I win or lose, I will be alone.

Connections

Sometimes I hesitate to know, to reconnect with people because that means I have more people to care about, to worry about. I've been keeping bare minimums with my contacts because there's only one of me to constantly fret over whether they're safe driving/riding in the rain, whether there's shelter, whether there's a place to eat at lunch and whether they're okay. It takes so much out of me to care because I have so little of me left, so little of the past me left to pass out to everyone and I'm rapidly draining that fossil.

Rant: 20170430

Where do I go with my heart full of misunderstandings, and unreasonable pent up anger? Where can I go with my soul consumed by loathing and an unfathomable sadness? Where do I go to be isolated from my loneliness? What can I do to ease this constant ache of injustice and disappointment? Where do I seek shelter? Who will even take me in?

- an hour after writing the above paragraph -

I don't take my words back but I now know that I'm not alone.
I have someone to cry with.
I have someone to keep my okay.
I have someone to hear me out, to shoulder my hurt.
I have someone who would give me the time of their day.
I'm not lonely anymore.

I have someone.

And I'll be okay.

I don't know anything

"You don't know the real definition of that phrase."
"You don't know what real frustration is."

No, I don't. I don't know anything because you don't try to know and neither do you know the real anything. Who actually does? What is the real definition and feeling of anything? Does anybody know?

I thought things are interpreted differently with everyone? If you say that to me, can I say the same thing to you? Because I am sure that you also do not know the real definition of that phrase, the real feeling of frustration. You know why? Cause there will always be someone having it worse, there will always be someone who knows their definition of 'real' is what it is.

So the 'real' for me at 20 years old is as legitimate as your 'real' at 57. Don't downplay my feelings just because I'm younger than you. There's a 10 year old living in a war torn country. I'm sure their 'real' is more than ours. Stop making age a benchmark for being 'mature'. Don't tell me things like 'You think you're mature but you have not felt real desperation." "You don't know what real anger and frustration feels like."

If I get cut off from trying to explain my feelings, I get frustrated but I am able to brush it off. But when I try to explain and I get belittled, when I try so hard but I have to give up and agree with you because I don't want to be not filial, when the words exiting my mouth sound calm, nonchalant but the almost unbearable thundering in my heart almost made me stutter, I am not able to.

Stop it.
My self-worth is the only thing I have.
Stop taking it away from me.

170413: Thoughts

When I was younger, Mom and Dad would shake their heads at the children who used their phones in the presence of their parents. They would chastise them, make an example out of them. Do not be like that when you have a phone of your own, it's disrespectful. 

And I agree wholeheartedly. In a world where technology is a constant presence, people get carried away with the virtual world, often disregarding the importance of being a present human being instead of an online persona.

I think it's rude when I'm in the presence of someone else and even if there's a conversation to be spoken, eyes are focused on OLED screens and fingers are steadfastly swiping, scrolling, tapping. I feel like the outsider, intruding on a world I don't belong in when I know that I'm in the real one. It's done so often now that both worlds are quickly melding into one.

Some might say it fills up awkward gaps in conversation. I say that it kills the conversation completely. When you don't even try, what's the point in even meeting face to face? If communication can't even be done when there's eye contact and body language, why do people even still have to face each other?

I get told that I am a good listener, a good conversationalist but when I seek out a good talk, I rarely get one. I've been brought up to talk and socialize. I may not be the most outgoing but with another person present, I know how to keep the conversation going. I've been taught that way.

The irony of it is that now, I can't even get my parents to reciprocate to my words.

Tears

There's a certain tiredness that comes after crying. It saps a part of your energy that makes it so hard to function afterwards.
When you're holding back tears because you don't want to show your weakness, your chest will be left aching.
When you cry silent tears, the tracks made down your cheeks are left as race tracks, as a constant reminder that you're a race car driver spiraling down at high speed into the darkness.
When you cry heart wrenching sobs in someone's presence, you're left spent and satisfied.
When you cry heart wrenching sobs in the dark silence and you try to muffle your wails of pain with your sodden pillow, you feel a part of your soul gone and the rest of you battered and aching as your internal war dictates the champion and by your exhaustion, you've lost.
It's extremely tiring to cry. Especially when you can't let anyone else know.
I don't want to cry anymore. For it's especially worse when the person you're crying for doesn't care for the reason why you are.

170326: Thoughts

I am so sick of negativity. I am tired of fighting back, of unnecessary comebacks, and constant pent up anger at the mistreatment of others. I am sick of people being pushovers, of being pretentious and “savage” when all they’re being is rude and disgusting. I hate how everything must be done together now because we’re a family and it’s always an utter failure because of fire going against each other and the mediator, water, ending up hurt in the crossfires. There’s so many ways this could turn out to be utter catastrophe and the lines I’ve carefully mapped out to know my limits are dangerously blurring from the constant erasing and adjusting. 

The weight around my neck

When grandma gifted it to me, it was a burden. Like an anchor eternally aweigh and hanging from my neck. It was a thank you gift for constantly visiting her when she was ill. It shows her gratitude for my constant presence by her bedside, entertaining her rants about my family's shortcomings. It was a thank you for being the messenger owl to inform my family that the one she needs is them and not me. I was not appreciated there. She doesn't want me as their mascot. She doesn't want me, her granddaughter.

She gave to me a pendant and chain made of gold. I broke the chain on the day itself, when I sobbed after placing it around my neck and tugged on it till it gave way. The weight was taken off and I could breathe.

The next day, following instructions from grandma, mother came home with a thicker, stronger chain to tie me down. From then on, my breathing stays at half-mast in distress.

I began tolerating the weight around my neck. With every person acknowledging it, with my own grandmother beaming (smirking?) when she sees it, I became comfortable with the weight. I succumbed to her deadly words. I was no longer resisting. I was a ship moored to the sea bed by its anchor.

I gave up my anchor today. I gave it up for noble reasons. And I am now without my chains. I felt lost, buoyed, free and dazed all at the same time because shouldn't I be glad to be free?

Then I remembered that I was accustomed to the load between my collarbones. Now that it's empty, I have no control over my vessel. I am no longer the captain, for the anchor was the one that made sure I was kept rooted.

p.s I don't even know what this is.

Musings #4

It's difficult to integrate back into humanity when you've been alone for a prolonged period of time.

---

I'm not that good of company.

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I'm so sick of the same people, the same routine of staring at the same four walls until someone comes and expects me to socialize when I was left in silence and solitude for so long.

---

Sometimes people speaking makes me wanna foam at the mouth.

---

I think I have more conversations with myself than with people. I'm my best listener and conversation anyway.

---

My inner monologue gets so loud at times that I have to stop in the middle of doing something to wait for it to end.

From a daughter to her mother

Show her this if I'm gone.

To my pillow

You are as filled as a rain cloud.
You contain enough to drown a person.
I am sorry I drowned you.
I am sorry I drowned you in my sorrow.

GE2: Discrimination against Tattoos

A speech we had to deliver before our peers on a discrimination topic of our choosing. 

This was mine. 

Good morning everyone. The topic of my stand and deliver today is Discrimination Against Tattoos.

Now, what are tattoos? They are a form of body modification done by inserting ink into a layer of the skin to change its pigment.

I think tattoos are beautiful, even if it's the most basic and simple design. The pain it takes to get the tattoo shows me how important it was for the individual to have that piece of art on their body and I admire them for it.

I never thought about any implications that comes with having tattoos until I started working at an official store in a high-end departmental store where I went through strict interviews. I realised that on my application form, there was a box to declare whether I had tattoos.

I was taken aback by that because all these years, I never thought that the declaration of having a tattoo is necessary. I thought that once you get one, it becomes a part of you and why should a part of you be a necessary knowledge for other strangers or job interviewers?

So I asked my brother who has a full back, torso and arm of tattoos. "Dude, do you really have to declare your tattoos when you go to a job interview?" and he said, "Yes, especially in the service sector because they don't want tatted employees serving the customers. Gives them a bad impression."

Then he proceeds to tell that he was affected by it too when the aerospace company he worked for fired him for violating the no visible ink policy. His tattoo peeked through the collar of his coveralls and his supervisor saw it. The tattoos were said to be untidy looking and poses a negative image for the company as they see tattoos being associated to gangsterism.

And now that he has to declare his tattoos to potential employers, he struggles to find a company that would accept him due to that reason.

I feel that that is highly unfair because if someone can do a job, they should be equal with the next person with the same resume, just tattoo-free.

Imagine the loss of a suitable candidate just because he decided to have art on his body? With the younger generation now entering the workforce and with more than a few having tattoos, this outdated workplace policy of maintaining a clean, businesslike image will seriously lose out on talented individuals.

I believe that tattoos are an expression of someone's identity just as much as their beliefs or religion.

Some parts exaggerated for story-telling purposes.

GE2: Love

We had a lesson on impromptu speech today and were tasked to talk about a topic given to us in one minute. We had a couple of minutes to think about it and I came up with this. 

My topic was Love. 

The meaning of love comes in many forms. To feel passionate about something or someone, that's love. To feel strong affections for someone, that's love. Common forms of love are usually love for your family, parents. Love for your partners and your significant others. Also, love for your friends.

However, to me, the most important love is the love of oneself. Why? Because if I don't even learn to love myself, how am I supposed to love someone? To reciprocate their love for me, in example, my parents?

After years of self-loathing and being ungrateful, I realised that my mother has been there for me throughout, regardless of how I've been. Her love for me has been consistent and my self-hate blinded me to all that. How lucky I am to realise it now when I'm younger. What if I had lost her without ever being able to love her back?

Hence, I believe that if you don't put aside the negativity in you, you can never love someone wholeheartedly.