Thursday, April 8, 2010
Thank you.
Thanks to those who have hurt me, you've made me stronger. Thanks to those who have been there for me, you've made me realise the world isn't all bad. Thanks to those who care about me, you've made me warmer inside. Thanks to those who didn't believe in me, you made me work harder. Thanks to those who always supported me, you've made me believe in myself. Thanks to those who lied to me, I'm no longer gullible and stupid. Thanks to those who made me laugh, you remind me what happiness is. Thanks to those who left me, you've made me realise I'm better on my own.
Thanks to everyone who has entered my world, you've made me, me.
Thank you.
Thanks to everyone who has entered my world, you've made me, me.
Thank you.
Reality.
I've never been the type to be nailed to the ground and have my feet and head focused on reality. I'm a dreamer. My dreams and fantasies burn the fire in my soul. But reality is the joy-kill shattering my dreamy glass of a world that doesn't exist. This world is fragile because it lives only in my head, no where else.
It may be the only substance in my life that keeps me going. It's the only fuel that keeps my engine running. I can't accept the restrictions of reality, I won't. I can't bear to believe that this is all there is. There has to be more. Surely this world can't be so grey and bleak. If only I could re-paint the world, edit it a bit, bring some life and action into it. Reality and normality is boring. I hate boring.
The sun comes up in the morning and the dark sky with the illuminating moon comes out at night. Everyday. It's the same old routine. Sometimes there's rain and thunder, it's something different but it fails to entertain. Like a poor puppet show that everyone runs away from, sheltering themselves from the disgrace. The wind often comes along to provide a bit of push, swaying the trees, giving lifts for kites but it does nothing to cause a new emotion, a difference. Instead, it's just another normal aspect of everyday life. I need that extra boost. That extra spark to light up my sky. Nothing solid offers that, so I continue to live in the world that I've mentally built.
It may be the only substance in my life that keeps me going. It's the only fuel that keeps my engine running. I can't accept the restrictions of reality, I won't. I can't bear to believe that this is all there is. There has to be more. Surely this world can't be so grey and bleak. If only I could re-paint the world, edit it a bit, bring some life and action into it. Reality and normality is boring. I hate boring.
The sun comes up in the morning and the dark sky with the illuminating moon comes out at night. Everyday. It's the same old routine. Sometimes there's rain and thunder, it's something different but it fails to entertain. Like a poor puppet show that everyone runs away from, sheltering themselves from the disgrace. The wind often comes along to provide a bit of push, swaying the trees, giving lifts for kites but it does nothing to cause a new emotion, a difference. Instead, it's just another normal aspect of everyday life. I need that extra boost. That extra spark to light up my sky. Nothing solid offers that, so I continue to live in the world that I've mentally built.
Thursday.
This is the life I'm living. I've got to put a pause on everything else, I can't want. The things I want have got to wait. Staying focused is what I have to do. Everyday, I drill it into my head as if the words are screws. It keeps my head together, keeping my life together. Places to be, people to see. No. I've got to figure this out before I leave.
I want to ignore these responsibilities badly. But I can't and I won't. This time, I'm really trying. Trying to make things right.
Schedules filling up. I just want to escape. Is that so much to ask? Live a day without having to be somewhere important, having to do something. I miss those careless days, been a rebel for too long. I've got to face up to responsibility now. Can't live the way I've been living. I'll miss those days. But for now I've got to keep my head up high and iron my life out. Sure, I'll be distracted a lot of the time, but I can't help that. Just have to keep reminding myself that I've got things to do and places to be. It'll be hard, I know, the heat of it all will get to me. I'm sure I'll burn with frustration but this is what I have to do.
I want to ignore these responsibilities badly. But I can't and I won't. This time, I'm really trying. Trying to make things right.
Schedules filling up. I just want to escape. Is that so much to ask? Live a day without having to be somewhere important, having to do something. I miss those careless days, been a rebel for too long. I've got to face up to responsibility now. Can't live the way I've been living. I'll miss those days. But for now I've got to keep my head up high and iron my life out. Sure, I'll be distracted a lot of the time, but I can't help that. Just have to keep reminding myself that I've got things to do and places to be. It'll be hard, I know, the heat of it all will get to me. I'm sure I'll burn with frustration but this is what I have to do.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Missing.
He was missing something. Something indescribable. Was it a feeling? Was it a possession? All he knew was that his life was incomplete.
It was only lately that he had been feeling odd, out of place and just not right. People said he had it all, the LA mansion, the rich business family and the most expensive car on the block. Not to mention that he was "Mr Popular". He was the guy the girls yearned to be with, and the guy every other guy wanted to be. So it didn't make sense for him to feel this way. Friends surrounded him every second of his days, he was never alone. Yet he felt lonely.
He had spent the entire day helping his dad at their family's car dealer. Exhausted. But he never complained, never sighed and never showed a single tinge of annoyance. He always did as he was told, not because of fear but because that was who he was. Never the complainer, always the hard-working, busy bee willing to help everyone.
And he had been happy. So he thought.
Life felt bleak, grey and suddenly seemed to lack meaning. He wasn't sure what brought this all on, but the more he tried to push the darkness over, the more he thought about it. So the thoughts and feelings drowned him. He sunk in them, not understanding.
At the annual country fair, he was surrounded by his friends and as they smiled and laughed, he tried his best to plaster a fake smile on his own face. Happiness was around him. But it wasn't something he felt. He glanced around noticing the young kids around him holding fluffy, sugar-filled, pink fairy floss. It shot his mind back to the past, his youth. Back in the day when he was 10, his family wasn't rich, merely surviving on bread and cheese. He recalled his mother digging through her wallet desperately to pay for fairy floss he had begged for at this fair seven years ago. He could picture her struggled face as she searched for two dollars in her old, rugged and torn bag. He could feel the embarrassment he had felt that moment. That was before. Now his mother could buy a whole fairy floss factory if she wanted to.
He had it all. So why was he feeling so low?
He could have anything he wanted, he could have a new car just like that, a new Ipod or a new television just like that.
But something was missing.
His senses began to go wild. Everything became loud, the laugher, the screams resembled shattering glass. His head spun and his sense of smell deepened as the sweet smell of candy mixed with the scent of hotdogs. It all became overwhelming. His sight began to blur, the sky darkened and faces began to dissolve. Something happened right there. He had no idea what but he was suddenly somewhere else. A familiar place. The smell of fresh paint filled the room, the smell, the orange colour of the small room seemed so familiar. It was a part of his past, a segment in his childhood memories.
His instinct forced him to walk into the kitchen, there were his parents, seven years ago. They were covered in paint holding paint brushes working away and sitting on the kitchen bench was himself, seven years ago. The little boy sat there watching his parents work their extra job. It was one of his parents' under the table jobs. He came over to sit next to his younger self, amazed. It was like a dream.
As he watched his parents' beautiful strokes that seemed so effortless he could sense that the young boy next to him was happy. Happy to spend a friday afternoon after school with his parents. Then his mother turned around and walked towards him. Could she see him? He thought to himself. But she didn't go to him, she went to the small boy, the him years ago. She smiled, a warm smile that would have melted a glacier and she said: "No matter how rich you get and no matter how much money you have, don't be blinded and always listen to your soul.."
Then bam. That was it. He was back into reality, it was like nothing had happen. He was there again with his friends walking around the fair. "Listen to your soul.." the words echoed in his mind. But he no longer felt anything. He felt no emotion. Just empty. What if he had no soul?
It was only lately that he had been feeling odd, out of place and just not right. People said he had it all, the LA mansion, the rich business family and the most expensive car on the block. Not to mention that he was "Mr Popular". He was the guy the girls yearned to be with, and the guy every other guy wanted to be. So it didn't make sense for him to feel this way. Friends surrounded him every second of his days, he was never alone. Yet he felt lonely.
He had spent the entire day helping his dad at their family's car dealer. Exhausted. But he never complained, never sighed and never showed a single tinge of annoyance. He always did as he was told, not because of fear but because that was who he was. Never the complainer, always the hard-working, busy bee willing to help everyone.
And he had been happy. So he thought.
Life felt bleak, grey and suddenly seemed to lack meaning. He wasn't sure what brought this all on, but the more he tried to push the darkness over, the more he thought about it. So the thoughts and feelings drowned him. He sunk in them, not understanding.
At the annual country fair, he was surrounded by his friends and as they smiled and laughed, he tried his best to plaster a fake smile on his own face. Happiness was around him. But it wasn't something he felt. He glanced around noticing the young kids around him holding fluffy, sugar-filled, pink fairy floss. It shot his mind back to the past, his youth. Back in the day when he was 10, his family wasn't rich, merely surviving on bread and cheese. He recalled his mother digging through her wallet desperately to pay for fairy floss he had begged for at this fair seven years ago. He could picture her struggled face as she searched for two dollars in her old, rugged and torn bag. He could feel the embarrassment he had felt that moment. That was before. Now his mother could buy a whole fairy floss factory if she wanted to.
He had it all. So why was he feeling so low?
He could have anything he wanted, he could have a new car just like that, a new Ipod or a new television just like that.
But something was missing.
His senses began to go wild. Everything became loud, the laugher, the screams resembled shattering glass. His head spun and his sense of smell deepened as the sweet smell of candy mixed with the scent of hotdogs. It all became overwhelming. His sight began to blur, the sky darkened and faces began to dissolve. Something happened right there. He had no idea what but he was suddenly somewhere else. A familiar place. The smell of fresh paint filled the room, the smell, the orange colour of the small room seemed so familiar. It was a part of his past, a segment in his childhood memories.
His instinct forced him to walk into the kitchen, there were his parents, seven years ago. They were covered in paint holding paint brushes working away and sitting on the kitchen bench was himself, seven years ago. The little boy sat there watching his parents work their extra job. It was one of his parents' under the table jobs. He came over to sit next to his younger self, amazed. It was like a dream.
As he watched his parents' beautiful strokes that seemed so effortless he could sense that the young boy next to him was happy. Happy to spend a friday afternoon after school with his parents. Then his mother turned around and walked towards him. Could she see him? He thought to himself. But she didn't go to him, she went to the small boy, the him years ago. She smiled, a warm smile that would have melted a glacier and she said: "No matter how rich you get and no matter how much money you have, don't be blinded and always listen to your soul.."
Then bam. That was it. He was back into reality, it was like nothing had happen. He was there again with his friends walking around the fair. "Listen to your soul.." the words echoed in his mind. But he no longer felt anything. He felt no emotion. Just empty. What if he had no soul?
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