What I want

It was a day before CNY eve, the day I cried because I don't know whether to go out or stay at my room.

(It sounded ridiculous. I know)

I cried because I really didn't know what to do. I didn't feel like going. I didn't want to go. I don't mind going anywhere by myself, it's just that at that time I didn't think I want to go anywhere. But staying feels wrong. Because it seemed that everyone is going out and try to spend most of their time out--exploring the so called foreign city and doing whatever stuffs with their friends, and I don't. And if I don't, it seems like I'm wasting my time... sort of.

So I don't want to go. But I feel like I have to. 

I cried. I told myself that I don't have to cry because I can do what I want, but I don't want to be wrong.  I don't want to cling on something that is not true. Like wanting candy when you have diabetes. Or eating a lot of meat when your mom said you shouldn't. 

I told my puppet buddy that I don't know what to do and he said that I shouldn't do things that make me cry. He said that it might not be true--what I think I should do--and even if it is it won't be good if it were done with a broken heart. He said that it's okay to stay when I feel like staying and only went out  to hang out with friends or eat. He said it's okay to have different thing to care for.

I hugged him and I felt so silly for crying. 

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I suppose I like being home--or whatever akin to it. I don't mind being alone for a long time. I don't really like conversing with a lot of strangers--because at that time I am anything but myself. But I love things that are festive and loud and bright and being in the middle of it all.

Other than that, I still don't know what drives me to live. My friend asked me not long ago, but I knew that it has been on my mind for a long time and never been answered. Is this mean that I'm one of those people who are merely existing, and not living? So sad... 

Is it even sadder that I don't feel as sad as I think I should be?

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Mom is very moderate. She tells me what I should and shouldn't do and whenever I said "But I like it." or "But I want to", she'll say that it's up to me if I'd do it anyway. Dad is the reason why I eat a lot. If I can't decide on what to eat, he'd tell me to order everything that I want and I can give it to him if I can't finish it by myself. If I have to wait for my food to come, he'd buy me snacks to eat while waiting for the food. Is it my fault if I would do things that I don't really like solely because I love them and want them to be happy?

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If I can have a kingdom of my own, I want it to be a place where I can see the open sky. And I can jump through my window and roll on the grass until I get tired and fall asleep until I wake up because of hunger. My people are magical stuffed animals that are powered by love and they will be there as long as I love them. I will tell them stories that I made up every day, and then I'd help them with their harvest and sometimes I'd help them milk their cows and feed their chickens. It doesn't have to be big, my kingdom, I figured that I want to walk around it by foot at times. I'll wash my horse everyday and I'll sleep whenever I want. I'll pet my cats and dogs and hug them and kiss them and rub my head to their belly everyday.

Once every full moon, we will have a bonfire and dance under the moon. We will sing and laugh and hug and kiss.

Whenever I'm bored I'll make up things to do and made it a routine until I'm bored again and make up another stuff to do.

I'll die, and when I died everyone will be dead because I'm dead and I can no longer love them. But can you love something forever, even after you die? Because that would be good. People don't have to die when I died. Or I think it would be better that because I loved them for a long time and they lived for a long time, they then learnt to love too, and because they love each other they can live forever. Or at least until no one love them anymore. Living a life without being loved is terrible anyway, I don't want them to live a terrible life.

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Lies and Deceit

I remember one time when I'm still in my rebellious phase. I was in junior high school and I don't like it when I'm forced to eat dinner when I'm in the middle of doing something, so that one time is the time when my family (there's my aunt and my uncle also) forced me to eat chicken satay. My mom said it's good and I shouldn't sulk because I'm forced to eat. I ate some and my aunt asked me how it tasted and I replied "It's not special" just to spite them (I WAS in my rebellious phase). They laughed and say something akin to "she didn't mean it". I think I was pretty annoyed back then because I made myself believe that it IS not that special but they don't believe me.

I guess at that time I was too proud to admit that I could've made a bad decision on skipping dinner (or eating later on) or in general, I hate to admit that I was wrong.

Sometimes to the point of lying to myself that it is what I truly felt.

I don't know if I'm still like that though.

I mean, obviously I'm not brutally honest, not not in denial and never very eager to seek the truth. But I guess compared to my old self I learnt that it's okay to make mistakes and supposedly there are less lies that I've told myself (saying that there's absolutely none at the moment would be a lie, so. But I hope I'm wrong tho). I think.

Even if it's not, and whatever lies I've told myself keep piling and piling and piling because I'm that good at deceiving myself, is it really matter?

Is it really matter that I live my life happily because I lied to myself?

That I'm living a life of lies and whatever I convinced myself as genuine are never what I think it was?

That I'd die happy and content without knowing the slightest truth about who I really am?




I don't know, maybe not.

But even if it doesn't really matter, I think lying to yourself is not a very nice thing to do. In fact, I think it's a bit saddening and thinking about it makes me depressed a little. I don't really want to lie to myself.

But then again, I can't really say that one can differ which are lies and which are truths coming out of your head or heart (or at least me, I can't really say that I know how). I mean, how do you know? I don't know about you, but my head is full of voices. Sometimes it's not even mine--it sounded like my friends, my parents, sometimes it sounded like a pony. So how do you know which speaks the truth? I can't tell, most of the time. (I usually just follow whatever's convenient)




But if it doesn't really matter, then why bother, right?


p.s. Actually, there are a lot of times when I feel very honest. But I don't know if that's another lie my mind is trying to tell me.