Saturday, May 26, 2018

Saying things out loud

I think it was a month ago or something. I saw a tweet saying something along the lines of “being raised in Asian household makes me unable to say thanks or apologize to my parents”. In most cases, of course, it’s understandable. When family makes mistakes, they don’t need to say sorry since it’s somehow unwritten rule that it’ll be forgiven for sure. When they do or say nice things to us, it’s not a favor. It’s just family thing. Things we normally take as something for granted. High context culture and all that, no need to mention things like sorry or thanks since we’re family. So I know. I know it’s awkward and hard. I’ve been there too.

Never thought too much about the time when I burst out crying because I have disagreement with my parents, or have a shout-match with my sister, because not 5 minutes later we’re going to have dinner together and everything’s alright.

I remember, I saw my cousin said, “thanks” to her mom, and I thought, “Why did I never say thanks to mom? That’s stupid.” So I did. I started saying thanks to her.

I remember, I was in middle school, it was in dining table. I said, “Thanks mom.”

It was so awkward and foreign the first time.

The first time I tried to apologise to my grandma was around then too. I can’t even confirm if she actually heard me or not since I ran out of the room as soon as I finished mumbling, “Sorry I was mean to you when I was younger.”

But it gets easier.

I said sorry to my mom and dad when I said something mean too. Sometimes I said sorry in advance, I said, sorry I’m so easily pissed off these days, please forgive me if I said something mean. Sorry that I was home late. Sorry that I was wrong. My sister too. Sorry, I said that because I was angry. She understood.

You know what? They did too. I didn’t even realize when it started, but my mom and dad say sorry and thanks too. My sister too, obviously. Not immediately, or often (well we don’t have that many things to be sorry for and somethings are just business as usual to say thanks to) but they change as I do it.

Then generally talking comes easy. Not all arguments can be made with sounds reasons, cuz with my parents I cannot help but be easily emotional, but most of the time talks are fruitful and enhance understanding. I thought that’s growing up, talking about stuffs. That was around when I am convinced to take talking face-value, that things can be talked about, and better being talked about. It’s easy for me to say things that is on my mind, because I am never really punished for it, and I find that it solves variety of problems fairly quickly. This prove to cause problems since then I am not equipped with the ability to small talks or bullshit things through, but well, I guess I’m learning (very slowly).

Anyway.

Before I went to London, my aunt told me she gonna miss me. My mom was there. Later on that day, I asked my mom if she’s not sad that I am leaving. She said, “Well, sometimes you don’t say things that you feel” with the most heartbreaking tone and I felt tears pricking my eye.

So there’s that too.

But we grow, you see. At one point, conversations like “please don’t say things like that, hearing you say that hurts me,” or “I am sorry I make you sad, let’s not do it if it makes you unhappy” are common, as we are learning what are the things important to be said and what are the things better left unsaid—things that I don’t imagine is said out loud but in mainstream media.

But really. If everything is normal* then your parents must love you and they learn to be parents too, for all their life. Why wouldn’t they, when their children constantly evolving into something that they may or may not ever imagine. Help them do it. Learn with them. Hopefully we can be better parents and children together when we can talk things through.




*Not all household are ideal so sometimes parents suck, if this is not you then you are blessed indeed

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

My concerns lately

Sometimes I worry that I am not very honest with myself.

I think I'm pretty honest, but what if I'm not? How would I know? After all, it is me who I'm lying to. And I might be a terrible liar, but I am also pretty gullible. I don't know.

Like… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I know myself so much. But what if it’s because what I am is just what I think I am?

And I wonder if that’s even a valid question, cuz, why wouldn’t you be the person you think you are? I don’t understand this. I have too much existential crisis.



You know, sometimes I get tired too, when I seemed to be more of an interesting specimen, or an exception, for my surroundings. I mean, I also like to think I'm special, but to dismiss my experience or my perspective because I am not 'like most people'  is also disconcerting.



I know I am a serious person, but I didn’t know that I’m so serious that I don’t know how not to be serious about things anymore. I butchered small talk. I cannot. Somebody should tutor me how to not talk seriously, or talk about serious stuffs, or twist a non-serious talk into something serious. How do I keep things light, anyway? What can people even ask about things that doesn’t matter?

Thursday, February 15, 2018

That I am


No matter how much I propel, I will never get there.

Never.

But rowing my boat is the only thing I know how.
And you are the only think I know to desire.



Tell me,

When all of this ends, will I reach you then?
Will I find a way, to go to you?


I am not heartbroken,
but I am lost.

Thursday, January 18, 2018

An update!

I am not neglecting this blog, I swear. I was locked out of it for a while because I was not able to figure out my password for the old email which I used for this account. Yeah, I know, lame, and I am a little traumatised (even though everything should be fine now) because I am reminded yet again

that

things can (and most of the time, surely) end abruptly without any warnings beforehand. So my last post would be my last post. And I could never erase the stupid stuffs that I finally stumbled upon from my old self (I rarely did this but some things are dumb that I cannot not erase it for the sake of my sanity). Basically stuffs just ends and I cannot do anything about it and it sobered me up.

But since as I mentioned in the last post, that what I want or do might not be something deliberately purposeful anyway--maybe it does not matter all that much.



Anyway. Things moved on since the last time I posted. For instance, I am not in the UK anymore, which saddened me sometimes (because I genuinely like London). And I am employed now (because living costs money, that's why). But basically a chapter of me pursuing my master had come to an end. And it ends pretty well, in a way that it feeds my ego.

You see, I tried really hard. I did.
I wanna be good. So I read and I write and I become better.
I thought I have become better, but I just become 'slightly' better. Good, but not good enough, I thought.

At the first few weeks of my study, I thought of how hard studying is really is, and thinking that I might not be able to finish with a flying colours. When I was working on my dissertation, I tried making peace with the fact that I might have tried really hard but it might turned out to be just... alright. (Well the story of mediocrity is not just about trying to be good at Splatoon 2 ya see). Funny thing is, it turned out that I did (pass with flying colours. Somewhat), and I still think I am not good enough.

Now in retrospect, this is where I notice what inferiority complex really is. I thought it was the means to be humble (because I am humbled), but I get so far to not acknowledge achievements when it's in front of me. I convinced my self that I am nothing but the usual, and it... might not be as good as I thought it should be.

Regardless, I don't think it is something that I can imagine changing, yet. At least. Idk. I can't imagine me being anything than I am now. So what if it's humility, or inferiority complex, I feel what I want. Let me be joyous in thinking that I am not amazing (which I am really not).

But overall I was all great experience since I got a friend and level-up my friendship with another. I am smarter than I was a year ago, and I am better equipped for life than I was a year ago. I thought I have myself all figured out but I am not, and that's evolution for you.



Another update of my life is that I still wonder how did I ended up being so lucky. I am so lucky. In this bleak, horrid world, where it is very conducive to be evil, when it's easy to be horrible, that I am surrounded with wonderful people. That I find people whom I can see in the eyes, and that I find sincerity and love in their dreams. That I can talk to them, and how it makes life more bearable. That they are wonderful, more than Wizard of Oz could ever be, I am sure.

I wonder why I am so defeated--when I am loved, when I am capable of getting what people find valuable, when I am surrounded by wonderful people. I wonder why I am like this? What is the lie that I told myself? What has happened that makes me this way? What makes me so tired? And terrible?



I think I am plenty nice despite being tired and terrible, though.

Thursday, August 31, 2017

[DRAFT] Will

(written 22/3/15, edited just now. Just so it's out there.)

There are times when I looked at cats or dogs and started to wonder why do I do things I do. Why am I busy with assignments, trying to graduate college, trying to have more money. Functioning in society. Whatever thing else. Who decide that I have to live my life this way? Why don't I do things other creatures do?

Even somewhere out there, another human being is leading their life with concerns that are nothing like mine too. They do things that I don't do too. But why do I? Why do I do these things? Most of the things I do are things that I can't help but do--because this is where I was born; because this is the family I'm raised from; because these are the friends that I made; because this is my name; because those are the people I met; because these are things I learnt; because these are things that come across my life; so on and so on. That's why I have to go to school. That's why I can climb trees. That's why I have to wear clothes. That's why I read books. That's why I watch cartoons. That's why I love my cat. That's why I act this way.

Every single thing I do in this world is nothing but the echo of other things that I have no control over. What do I actually have control over? Even my assessments and my choices are born out of spite or because of reasons that aren't coming from myself. Even the way I think about things are shaped by things around me. Even what I feel is probably just chemical reactions of various things that made up my body. A body that constantly altered, little by little, by age, by what I ate, by what I drank, by whatever else.

Nothing.


But I'm here writing this. Not.. mad. Long has been gone since I accepted the fact that I'm not at all important in this universe--that I'm probably just another microscopic screw out of this grand scheme made by higher existence or something. A tiny, insignificant speck.

I just... sometimes I just want things. Sometimes I want to be a dog, a pony, a boy, anything that can fly, live underwater, I want to see dinosaurs. But I can't. I can't be a dog. I can't fly. I can't live underwater and befriend sea creatures. I can't.

I don't think any amount of working or training or praying can ever grant me any of those.

What is a free will when your will are free only for things you CAN do?

Or having this kind of feeling is free will too? Wanting things that you can't have ever. That's free will? A feeling that are response to your inability to achieve things?

Feelings? Conclusion from process of cognition? Is that it?

Well.

I don't know.