Undeserved self-pity

After a little chat with an old friend (well, not that old), I’ve realized that it’s the hopeless wallowing in self-pity that’s kept me from moving on. It takes two to tango, and this was no exception.

Sometimes, girls can be equally self-centered and able to take advantage via our more subtle wiles. It takes a certain degree of self-realization and knocks on the head from God before one can properly admit to having done the things one has done for some selfish intent, and not out of some emotionally justified relationship (probably not even justified unless married).

My food for thought over the weekend, and reminds me how imperfect I am. Shucks.

Sequestered Heart

I don’t know if what’s happened has made me too afraid. Most little things remind me and make me withdraw; not something I’d easily dive into again. There’s a new wariness cast over everything.

Don’t like it at all.

Why with you, and why at that time of all times?

Questions I’ll never know the answer to for a while–maybe even never.

But what i do know is that someday I’ll look back on this and laugh–laugh with the joy of a woman truly fulfilled and blessed–and know that it was meant to grow me.

This is what drives me to persevere.

Distraction or Inspiration? Or rather, the breakdown.

(This is a long post, and probably highly irrelevant. But if you still want to look inside my mind, by all means you may continue, and read it.)

Sometimes, I feel like this tree. This is one of those times.

It’s terrible to get distracted now, in Semester 5, with the EOS 5 creeping up–just over a month away. Ask anyone from ME1/08 and they’ll agree to that.

Tiramisu

There comes a time when you look back at your old photos, your old diary, your old self even, and think–hey, I don’t know that person anymore.

You don’t think you look like that anymore–no more skirts-over-pants or jeans imported ideas from Japan.

Talk like that anymore–substantial, non-brain-drain conversations are the order now.

Think like that anymore–just don’t see how those things used to matter so much.

Act like that anymore–it’s tiring to be like that all the time.

There’re parts you can identify with, but not the whole. You still have those teardrop moles by your eyes, but those eyebags seem to be getting larger and darker. Things that have stayed the same, like your underwear collection, and things that have dramatically changed, like your circle of friends.

But that’s when you know you’ve moved on–been sifted through–into a different recipe, a different mix. Everything tastes different, mellower even. The essence of who you are has matured, being moved closer to the finished products hall of fame, that hangs up in the sky in some fantastic, mastercraft bakers’ land (I’d like to be tiramisu, please). I hope God has a sweet tooth (and a sense of humor). :)

Then you wonder…

If I meet someone from that time in my life, how different would it be?

Tricky question. Never know till it comes, and no use worrying. :) Life’s no RPG with a cheatbook telling you all the possible endings and what to do to get there.

Welcome to February, readers. :) It’s not a “new” year any longer.

I watch you, and the way you move

There are four things that I blame this dream on:

1) Watching a rebellz photoshoot by Joe Low yesterday
2) Talking to Mike about all things Canada
3) Googling Liu Wen, the first Chinese VS Angel
4) My morning wake-up song (I Watch You by Lee Cabrera ft. MIM)

SO.

Last night I had the most bizarre dream (that somewhat made sense when I thought deeply about all the connections).

You know how dreams are–you never remember how exactly they started or how you got to be where you are in the dream where memory begins.

I was in this huge hall that was a cross between Chee Wee & Alice’s wedding solemnization hall and the Sunway Convention center hall where Comifest was held two years ago. There was some familiar house music thumping in the hall (probably something off of my MOS playlist). Some black DJ guy.

Who was I? A 4′ 11″ model, 100000x skinnier than my present size, wearing some funky club-inspired togs that were red, black, silk, and not very conservative. Oh, let’s not forget the killer platforms and hooker boots. There were a few of us, in these huge, suspended glass boxes with props. There were like.. a million photographers on various ladders, balconies, etc. with their flashing lights aimed at us. We kept posing, in time to the heavy beats the DJ was pumping out.

Eventually it was time for us to take a break, so I got out and instantly fell into the crowd, where I regained balance after being moshed for a while. Out of nowhere, I spotted Ben Reed, my high school bestie, walking around with Deadmau5. I screamed at him and jumped into his arms, totally clinging on and glomping him as he yelled back at me.

“OMG BEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!??”
“JADEY!! I MISS YOU SO MUCH YOU CRAZY ASIAN!!”

Then Paul Chavady appears, with full beard in tow.

“HEYYYY!!!”

I swing into his arms, jumping off of Ben. We totally scream each others’ names like girls.. in that annoying, drawn-out style until… Mike appears. We shut up and I just stare at him, before he waves, smiles and goes off with some guy who looks like Basshunter.

I jump out of Paul’s arms to follow Mike, weaving in and out of the crowd until I end up outside the hall. The music switches to a mashup of Akon’s Sexy Bitch and Kid Cudi’s Day N’ Night (which, IMHO, would be a really hot mashup). I dance along to the beat and enter this small room with red, shiny, metallic walls and a door like the one in Alice in Wonderland.

There’s a photographer inside, who looks vaguely familiar. Two people in addition to him: Fedde Le Grand (of all people…) and this anorexic-type model with massive fantasy makeup. She’s posing around him with these red lava lamps and glitter glowsticks, but none of them look happy about it. Suddenly, she throws all the props down and climbs up the skylight (which mysteriously appeared), cursing at them.

Fedde turns around and sees me, saying “You try, she’s hopeless.” It’s a promotional shot for his upcoming club tour. SO the posing begins and it gets kinda kinky. “Let me think about it” is playing in the background.

In short, it was successful, and when it was over I climbed out the same skylight, into a room with Armin van Buuren. He starts speaking to me in Dutch with this wide smile on his face, but I’m shaking my head like I don’t understand a thing. He asks me if I’ve heard a certain song, and I’m just confused and can’t answer him.

Lee Cabrera’s “I watch you” starts playing really loudly, and after a while I realize it’s my alarm.

What a way to wake up to my lumpy, nerdy self.

<3

NB: For those who may not know, what made sense was Paul & Ben being at the techno/house party because they like that kind of music. And the clothes I imagined on the models looked like what Liu Wen wore for the VS show. One of the models looked like a model from the Joe Low shoot.

True brain diarrhoea.

Into your gravity

Set me free, leave me be

I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity

Here I am, and I stand so tall

Just the way I’m supposed to be

But you’re on to me, and all over me…

Insipidity

My new blog design makes me not want to make any ranty slash emotional posts–

It’s too festive for such content. (yet appropriate for the season)

You know what’s difficult? Shutting off one side of your brain, i.e. the side that’s wired for attraction to the opposite sex, while having to spend extended periods of time with the said stimuli, who, at the same time, shows no interest or indications of such thoughts. Hmm.

Yes. I am being vague, and for very good reasons.

It’s strange, also, when you and I talk, and it’s still fun. Like that one night when I drew and cut out stars and made a star jar of sorts. Familiarity with a new flavor, a new twist. Almost sadistic, because I keep coming back for a taste, again and again. I discover something new each time, and it helps, sorta.

I was looking back on old posts as I properly tagged them, and this has constantly taken up a significant number.

Also:

My biological clock is screwed up, big-time.

Over and Over Again

So many times, it’s not even funny.

Just when I thought I was finally done,
everything comes sneaking back in–
old light from those treacherous stars.

Memories don’t vanish that easily, after all.

How uninspiring.

Old Thoughts

Looking back on many things that have transpired in my life, I can say I’ve really changed a lot–for the better in some ways, and lost aspects of myself in other ways.

When you’re aware of the things you’ve done over the years, it either makes you cringe or laugh. I do a little of both. But at the same time, the things that make you cringe are things you wished you never did, because they had a lasting effect on people you loved (or still love). 

With your mouth, you can speak LIFE or DEATH.

I choose to speak life, and all its accessory words. Whatever hurts I’ve caused in the past, I wish to address now, and halt what could potentially be a cycle of pain, suffering, and more hurts. Hurting people hurt others. The truest adage I’ve ever heard, and something that took a while to sink in.

God has really been teaching me a lot–and I daresay it isn’t all fun and smiles. Sometimes the realizations and understandings, the little “Eureka!” moments? They turn into quiet, gray, somber times where one just wants to reflect, ponder, and sit alone in front of a pulsing screen, wordlessly typing out the barrage of thoughts avalanching into their mind. 

I’ve grown quieter and calmer. Less of those “hyperriffic glee” moments that seemed to strike every other minute or so during my high school life. A little slower. I don’t catch things as quick as I used to. More considerate–to the point where it’s sometimes socially paralyzing. I know my parents better. I don’t know my brother well anymore. I haven’t sung in a while. I haven’t written in a while. Nor have I read or drawn in a while. RO’ed today, yesterday, and the day before. Still enjoy lazing in bed long after the sun has risen. Still have the same best friends, with one or two additions since university. Still a geeky nerd on the sly–guilty pleasures of torrented anime, cheap manga, pirated PC games, fantastic exam results and photoshopping.

I don’t fall in love every other day anymore.

Haha.

Growing up is interesting, especially if one keeps a diary. :)

Once bitten, twice shy

I feel used.

I was there when you needed me, but where are you now?

Things got better, so you’ve gone back down that path.

This never meant anything much, after all.

I’ll lock my heart.

“You are my sweetest downfall…”

The first line of Regina Spektor’s song, Samson, floats like a haunting memory across my mind. Was it only two years ago that we lay on the cold parquet floor of your room, snuggled closely for warmth, as the scent of sandalwood drifted in the air? I’ve got to shake this vividness off. It’s already been a year.

“Your hair was long, when we first met…”

It was your hair, I believe, that made me begin to love you. Then we talked, and everything else happened. Time and distance played a game with us, and now all that’s left are faded memories of sunnier days (or moonlit nights, as you never liked the sun).

“But they’re just old light…”

The lights of the distant stars were the only heavenly bodies present on those new moon nights where we shivered in your car, counting and naming the constellations. Nowadays, I hardly see those lights–they’ve been replaced by the harsh, closer, yellowy-electric streetlamps.

“I loved you first, I loved you first…”

You were first to bid those lights goodbye.

And now, it’s my turn.