And yes I jolly well was. If you can find that tiny subtle link somewhere on this colorful blog full of mini walls of text, you can tell how much of a surprise it is I am still around to blog and not resting in some urn.
(Over here, majority of the dead population gets cremated. Land is scarce on an island that is not visible on the atlas.)
Come to think about it, why the hell was I so angry with life?
I have the love of my parents. They never tell me "I love you" ever or say "goodbye" when they hang up on the phone. Beat the crap out of me numerous times during my teenage life for some forgotten reason, and called me mental and a slut on several occasions. They are also the ones to give up on every opportunity they ever have in their lives since me to trade for a glimpse of a chance for their daughter. That, I had usually cast away for more time to be lazy.
Thank god my father isn't Jacky Chan
and doesn't use his legs during punishment
and doesn't use his legs during punishment
I have a brother. Highly intelligent. Compassionate and passionate. Geeky (in the scientific sort of way). Advocates integrity, honesty, and chivalry. Romeo minus all the frills. Crazy.
I remember that a lot of my unhappy blog posts from the past had stemmed from dealing with my brother, having to deal with him, and the fact of needing to deal with him for the rest of his life. OCD is the biggest prank God has on us humans.
I am going to be extra harsh on this unfortunate soul, and since I am in an especially generous mood, I shall bestow upon those living within close proximity of him the adventure of loving someone who tells you "you cannot bathe when you need to because I haven't. I don't know when I will, and letting you in first is not an option".
This is the model for CK's Secret Obsession perfume
and no I don't look like that when I didn't get to bathe
and no I don't look like that when I didn't get to bathe
I love my brother. I just do not appreciate the OCD in him. Don't tell me I am wrong for my lack of acceptance. I am sure the brother wants it out as much as I do.... if not more.
I was once a model student in school. And as I graduate into my secondary years, I switched profession. I became a loser.
Everything started from being too proficient in a language that was "uncool" and not the language you had to use when you pen down your answers for homework or examinations. You know how people tell you that "it's through a lot of practice dear" when you pipe about how awesome another person is with a skill? Just like how you cannot always expect a national swimmer to be a top vocalist, it's safe to assume I sucked at this "other" language that's "cool" in school and used in textbooks and examinations. (English, baby)
Did horribly for my studies and was disallowed to join any sports community because it will interfere with my grades according to my parents. Didn't like school anymore the day a clique gave me a chance and I blew it with an Academy award-winning display of stutter speech. I remember waking up one day and discovering I have been automatically sorted into the loser category.
Unlike in the school of wizardry
where they have something tangible to do the job specifically
where they have something tangible to do the job specifically
Did I mention that my parents also limited my wardrobe choices to make everything a full package? So darn unredeemable, this whole thing. (With the 'thing' being me)
And just maybe, this wholesome package of being at the bottom-most of everything is the very thing that gave me what every growing child needed. Security.
You see, if you are a person who likes to squish bugs, you may pick on a harmless ladybug; Small, non poisonous, and gives a satisfying crunch. You will not pick a Brazilian Wandering spider, but neither would you pick a flea. It's simply not satisfying nor profitable to pick on one.
I never got bullied in school. No matter what I did, or not do.
So I grew up and got a hold of English. (And a couple of unfortunate boys)
Rebellious and dying to pave a road for all subsequent amoeba-like teens like myself, I ran amok with my out-of-this-continent dress sense and angsty, emo character. That carried on for the few good years that many of my peers spent studying hard for their degrees and securing both decent careers and men.
Now as I am bidding goodbye to my last twentieth-something years, I suddenly discover that albeit a lot older, I have become much happier and at peace with this world and what is happening around me. Don't get me wrong, I was angry with almost everything, just never myself. (Time to scream "BASTARD!!!" and pelt eggs.)
It's an amazing feeling, stepping away from things you get tired of doing for a cause that no longer brings you any further than where you have already been.
It's that sneaky, stealthy change that is painless and invisible to yesterday and tomorrow, but tells an incredible story you don't even know there is when you chose to look back decades down the road.
I am decades down my road now. Almost 3 decades to be specific.
As much as I spend a huge chunk of my wage on anti-aging and lifting beauty products monthly, I applaud every day I had as I lean closer towards my grave (Ok, fine. Urn.)
Here I am, constantly chiding myself not to look back so hastily for I will see a myriad of beautiful accomplishments and change if I am willing to hold it for a couple more milestones.... A few more breakups, loss of a pet or job, before I turn around and breathe.
Not the most angst-free stuff to say still
but it made me smile when I typed it out
but it made me smile when I typed it out
"I am surprised you don't do self-mutilation."
I love surprises. I guess I will keep surprising everyone including myself as I soldier on in life.
