Equal Fights

Mediocrity is something hard to stomach when you’ve had big, ambitious dinners all these while.

I used to be a dreamer. I sew the seams of these fantasies, sealing in the air of hope which I breathe, and set them down a current for an escape from my humdrum, suffocating cage.

And one by one, I did make these dreams come true. The elation of a job well done, the pat on my own back for not settling for something lesser, the smile I see in the mirror each day knowing that I’ve done them, and myself, proud.

I forgot how that feels like.

Now, the more I trudge, the more it hit me. I stood my ground, wondering what the hell happened, wondering where it all went, while the raining thuds of my conscience give me a bad headache and overflowing eyes.

I’ve surrendered. In my comfort zone, I missed a move Reality made. In my victory, I did not see the gleam in Its eyes. In my smugness, I forgot that what I have now is not forever mine. We work at it, we improve it, we work at it some more – and I forgot all about this as my personal champagne flows.

Writing took hard work, photography took constant alertness and a missing self-consciousness, TT Night took sleep and peace and pak-toh hours, UTAR Ball took hours in front of the computer panicking. Etcetera.

But it was, as they say, a good game. If you ask me, I’ll tell you it’s a bloody f-ing great game. I mentally run through the field with my hands up-stretched while my cells gave me uproar of cheers, whenever these tasks were completed with a sense of satisfaction.

Now, I’ve appeared to be further and further away from my passion. If you can still call it my passion, since I rarely engage in it anymore. I spend my days, all right, but perhaps they are not as well-spent as I intended it to. Heck, that’s just a longer way of saying I’m wasting my days.

I have settled for mediocrity. If you pair Nike’s “Just Do It” and the Malaysian “Lah” it actually has very different spirit in it. “Just do it only lah” – my motto these days. And then I get jealous seeing other people churn out blog posts after blog posts of humourous and great writing, pictures after pictures that tug at my heart, and generally, living a heck of an exciting life. I hit rock bottom when, guess what, I see people taking The Sims 2 so seriously as well. They created beautiful, creative and ingenious objects and mods; they have intricate, or at least, quirky storyline for their towns; they have passion. Compared to them, I Sim in shame.

No time for all this lah – my motto again. Funny statement, coming from someone who has six months to do her FYP, no classes and an (temporarily, I stress) abandoned freelance stint.

I believe in balance, like a paralysed tight-rope performer does.

Oh dear, I’m talking way beyond my age. I’m only 21, for goodness sake. Am I gonna write emo post like this for the rest of my life? Nah, at this rate, I’m most probably going to quit blogging at the age of 23.

In truth, there will always be work that needs to be done, money that needs to be earned, loved ones that needs to be taken care of. I could balance it before, why not now? What am I afraid of? Too little eggs in the basket again? To hell with baskets. And to hell with eggs. Get some balls instead.

80 percent heart, 20 percent talent – that’s what you need to sustain what is precious. Thank you, Szetoo. I wish I’d asked you sooner, though.

eeep.

My expectation for tomorrow range from zero to 249,657.

One part of me wanna go berserk and die with anxiety (I’m very dramatic on paper; in reality I just wanna laugh hysterically in my seat). Another part of me forgot that tomorrow I’m going for a new job (a part-time stint in a PR firm, thanks to Jolene’s recommendations ^^). Well, not exactly forgot. But more like the okay-cool-what’s-for-dinner kind of nonchalance.

I’ve never mastered nonchalance.

I’m very good at going berserk.

Don’t mind me. I feel like this everytime I’m going to work/study at a new place. The food sloshes around in my stomach and my skull suddenly shrank, pressing out my brain (dramatic and disgusting; you got a Sweeney-Todd-wannabe here).

The anxiety, for what its worth, is actually kinda fun.

Not too much of it, of course. Else I’ll look like a zombie with deformed head suffering from severe indigestion. But it’s exciting and nerve-wrecking at the same time to meet new colleagues and work in a new environment.

The previous job experiences that I had were fruitful. I learned tremendously and met some really great people; a few of them my cherished mates now. Yes, there were dramas, complaints, screw-ups, the deep-throat-bellow of “LIMEI”, and the si-poon and calot jokes, but looking back, it was all worth it. It made who I am today.

So, wish me luck for tomorrow! *Go berserk*

Phony me

I’m eating my own words – embarrassed, but secretly relishing it nonetheless.

When it comes to handphones, Nokia vibrates my world (Shit that sounds wrong. Oh well, a writer salvages whatever she assumes to border on being pun-ny, so bear with me). I loudly declare everywhere that Sony Ericsson is overrated, un-user friendly and seems to be made in a hurry. Then I will produce my vintage little number (a Nokia 1100, boasting a black-and-white screen that will soon be certified UN Heritage) and dares anyone to race me in retrieving a message. I’ve beaten Matthew so far and am now feeling incredibly boastful and egoistical.

Yes, this sworn nemesis of Sony Ericsson just wants to put a dent to its sales (ok lah even an egoistic me would admit that I won’t cause a dent lah. More like a nudge – by an ant).

Sayang and I used to bicker over whether SE or Nokia is more geng. I defended my vintage little number and its simple user-friendliness; while sayang will boast about how his SE camera capture awesome photos and blast crystal clear music and now…

Sayang wants to give me his old SE W810i.

He’s using his Dad’s Nokia N95.

The irony!

“Dowan la sell it lah get back the money lah give your mother lah,” I replied, brimming with sincerity and a nagging conscience.

A few hours later, the SE W810i’s screen is coated with a morbidly cheerful theme with maniacal monsters (one seems to be farting heart-shapes o.O).

It’s not my fault ok! Sayang said he don’t want to sell the phone because he would not get a good price for it, and it is still working perfectly. So, don’t waste right? And the theme is so morbidly happy that I can’t stop looking at it.

I still love Nokia though. If machines can understand people then my Nokia 1100 understands me. But of course, what do you expect after a five-year relationship? =) After playing with the SE for a while I realize that some of the functions are a little, sorry to say, idiotic. I mean, the alarm clock will automatically snooze itself ONCE you move the phone! It’s like saying “Oops sorry, I accidentally tried to wake you up. All’s good now. I'll quietly pretend that you don't have a class. Go back to sleep.” And it’ll snooze for 10 whole minutes! Wth??? I will sooooo late for class man. And then there are some minor frustrations here and there as well, which showed how much I took my Nokia for granted. The designers of the phone really thought through the whole process of how a phone will be used, and depended upon.

The same cannot be said for the newer generation Nokia, I guess, since Bryan seems to have complaints about his N95 too.

But heck, I’ll admit that the W810i has its great functions. The 2MP camera does its job well and the walkman sings wonderfully. AND MY THEME IS SO CUTE GAAAAH. Sorry *clears throat* can’t help it. I got a thing for nonsensical monsters.

Thanks, baby. I’ll take good care of your phone. And to my Nokia 1100, viva la vintage!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Humans make things too complicated. I just wish God can open up our eyes and let us see what truly matters. What that would truly make a difference. All we have is Him now to guide our steps.

Release what you hold to Him, for He is the one true Almighty. Stay strong, stay in love, stay positive.

Chin up.

Off my chest

I’ve forgotten the joy of just writing things down.

It came to a point where it’s okay not to blog anymore. It’s okay to just off the recorder and let life zoom past. It’s okay to wipe the lens while everything happens around you.

If life sucks, let me immerse in a never-ending gaming frenzy. Preferably those games that tuck my brain cells safely away and cut the leash off my adrenaline too. It’s all action and no time to think. Apparently, dashing in restaurants while cursing all the babies (only Diner Dash-ers can feel me) or dressing up models with crazy-looking but admittedly redundant clothes (squeal it with me, Eileen: “Jojo Fashion Show!”) takes your mind off the shit in life faster than you can say “f----!”

Gaming is fun, but its not fulfilling. At least, unlocking the frilly apron does not make my day (I rue the day it does). Writing used to be fulfilling. It used to be one of the very few things that I can do without breaking anything. But now, writing breaks me.

Writing became an exhausting affair, mostly draining my self-esteem. Starting every piece of writing with a bang used to be a little challenge I give myself; now it’s become compulsory - a criterion that I am less and less able to fulfill as days go on. Everything I write seems lame, unimportant, unworthy of the time. Cutesy games beckon, and I followed dreamily into a world where my words do not matter, and there are always someone who writes lamer lines (“It’s cool to serve ice cream yoghurts! Get it?”).

The very passion that helped me to heal through pains, make sense of issues and put a grin on my face is now merely my tool to survive assignments and occasionally, writing jobs. I still want to write, so badly. The good old days when I can just churn out line after the line; I miss it terribly.

I take this too seriously, I admit. When you put all your eggs in a basket, you’ll be careful about who sees your basket; lest they realize that you actually have too little eggs.

I need to let go. I need the peace which only He can give. Life sucks these days. Too much unnecessary drama. Too much hatred going on everywhere. Too much broken promises. Too much bad energy. Too much things that shouldn’t even be here at the first place.

It’s too much. I’m gonna bundle them up and give them to God. Sort it out, please. I’m drowning, they are choking, and we just need your hand, the very hand that you pulled Peter up from the water and said “why did you doubt?”

Please grant her the happiness that she deserves, Jesus. I love her so dearly. Please give us the peace which only you can give. You promised, God, two thousand years ago. Someone wrote it down and now it’s the best-selling novel in the world.

Please come for your imperfect children down here. We’re all messed up and I think some of us ate our bibs.

I don’t make sense. But it doesn’t matter, as Eileen will justify it perfectly.

How to die?

Life is a such a hectic rush these days that I have no time to let yesterday’s dinner sink in yet, let alone the fact that I only have two more semesters left til graduation.

Or, more specifically, one semester left in UTAR. I’ve got a three-month break next semester. You can envy me, but I advice against it. I might accelerate with uncalled for speed into a panicky state of mind, babbling incoherencies like “I’m freaking out I don’t want to graduate I don’t want to leave UTAR not after my faculty changed into such a cool name like Faculty of Creative Industries phwoar today is Thursday die die die I don’t wanna graduate.”

I have a million things to do.

I’m trying to figure out how to chomp it all down in one bite.

One minute I’m giggling in false security, the next minute I find myself surrounded with a band of deadlines – without my copy of “Muay Thai for Beginners” (bookmarked at Pg 3) too. Awesome.

All of a sudden it’s Week 9. Pardon me, the end of week 9, I mean. I stared accusingly at the number until it shuffled away in embarrassment, quicker than I would like, actually. So, now, all of a sudden it’s going to be Week 10 while I tried to recount what the heck I did for the past 10 weeks.

Emo, birthday, emo, deadlines. Blank.

Dude, where’s my bleedin’ brakes?

I really want to burst into tears right now. But that’s a waste of precious time and honestly, trying to cram for exam while bawling my eyes out means I won’t do a good job of either. And I’m too stoned to feel emo right now. Too panic to rock on. Too sleepy to explain.

I’m just typing this for the sake of a new post on my blog. And to complain about my life simmering in deadlines. And to show myself that hey, I can still make sentences.

Excuse me, I need to go slap myself awake.

Atrocious!

I just blew almost RM100 in less than an hour. That was so unlike me that when I was looking in the mirror to check out how I look with my new bag, I thought, “Who the heck are you and what have you done with the kiam siap teh ais limei but omg that is one hawt bag you have there.”

All courtesy of the birthday ang pau from me sis. I am now fabulously broke.

And the most unlikely of all was that I bought two bags. Yes, that’s the number right after one. Normally the number two would not exist in the same breath as “Li Mei bought…”, unless it’s RM2 or something of the equivalent kiam-siap-ness.

One of them is a backpack for going university. It’s got some funky designs but somehow it looks damn huge after I bring it home o.O Oh well. For RM27, I can close one eye on the little (er, in no ways literal) details. But I’ve got to admit, the design on the bag is pretty cool. Thanks, Jacq for helping me choose.

Yet that’s not my major buy. The remaining RM60++ is spent on a leather bag on 70% sale. One of those awesome ones that switches from a sling bag to a handbag with just a transformation on the strap. Genius sial. Have been eyeing those for ages. I usually treat any bag above RM50 a threat to the part of me so attached to flea markets and bargain bins. Yet for a price tag which shrunk from RM200 to RM60, I can overlook some principles that have long stood strong (and even longer beside bargain bins as I dig and dig).

Of course, I felt the guilt. Do the side effects of retail therapy affect only me? My inner gallows was waving the noose of self-indulgence. I mean, why do I feel so bad buying things I genuinely like, and wanted?

Well, I AM an adult now. While more responsibilities ensued it also counts to take certain things less seriously. To take myself less seriously. Of course, blowing RM100 in one go, for myself, may never become a habit for me – I just don’t have the kind of bank account. But I am proud that today, I decide to give myself a nice treat.

Thanks Sis! Thanks also to Sayang for his patience and contributions to Teh Ais’s retail therapy fund. Of course, thanks also to Jacq for making up my mind when I’m too busy fretting about whether the forty-year-old me would still like that bag or not.

Phew, I’m knackered. It’s one of my favourite expression to describe how drained I feel. Knackered – even the vowels and consonants seems to slump forward. My heart is still beating furiously from the retail marathon (yes yes, it’s only two bags but then again my stamina is famous for being non-existent), but the rest of my body just wanna close shop. Ta.

Love Today

My heart withers easily; a rose laid out for the afternoon heat.

I feel the corner that it retreats to. I feel the scab that it picks. I saw the window that it closed. I saw the angle which its lens were focused. I know the key which it has lost. I know the moisture that it craves. I pity the envy it has over cactuses – self-contained, defensive, but also saves. I hate the thorns that it had allowed to grow – they hide behind the deceiving bloom; they hurt its lovers.

They hurt me.

Behind the camaraderie the clown applied too much make-up over a tear-stricken face. Behind the shell the cocoon could not grow wings. Behind the words the emptiness spreads and spreads.

Words failed me. Or have I failed the words?

I do not know how to describe these emotions. All I know is that they fed off my little elations and drinks from my rationalism. I focused my defenses on Gratitude, but I see their advancement and I have no war cries. I have an army, somewhere, but I’m too weak to command.

Twenty. The part where I got lost. The plot becomes chaotic, the flow disturbed. Looking forward only shoves me backward. Expectations became a personal burden; it drags me down. Not the first time.

Importance is personal. What is important to me is just not to others. Plain as that. They are beautiful, wonderful. They made it half-full. They just… forget. I love them to bits. Perhaps its better to love them as a whole.

In times like this, when emptiness booms in your ears, drowning whispers of comfort and courage, I look ahead and smile. There they are, smiling back, lifting my heart, asking if I’m okay, staying by me even if I don't make sense, giving sweet comments on my pictures, asking if I need money, laughing with me, calling me mummy with an exclamation mark, spending time untangling the mess I’ve made.

Thank You, angels.

I have issues. But this time there’s no tears, only resolution.

I will settle the issues. I will be happier. I will open the windows to let out the stench of suppressed misgivings. Emotional teh ais? I’m tired of it; and I’m sure you are too.