Don't think I can stand it, seeing your name

I realise I write in this blog because I just can’t speak to most other people this openly. For some reason I can have other people talk to me, and it’s easy, but I can’t talk to a lot of other people, or really any so far. Maybe it’s just stubbornness, maybe it’s fear of being judged, maybe it’s that in the end I just don’t want anyone to feel close to me. And for the rare occasion that someone who I can actually want to talk to comes along, I just don’t know what to say anymore. Maybe I just care too much for the situation, for the circumstances. Maybe I have this need for such things to be perfect. Or maybe I’m really just afraid. In the shower, in my sleep, in my dreams it all becomes so easy. But such isn’t the case in real life.

I’m so scared of growing up. I want to grow up. I’m so confused about it really. If in my mind I “grow up” then maybe I can finally not care so much about, not emphasise so much on things that are so “childish”. An adult can have no use for sentiment and purity of memories and feelings. And yet if I were younger then I can focus on just the happiness simply through my naïvete,

I’m expected to take care of people. I take care of children. And as such I can’t be a child myself. I’m not allowed to be. And suddenly I realise that’s all I ever wanted to be.

Except I want to grow up. I want to become someone who deserves things, is worthy of things. And if I grow up I will slowly forget.

But if I grow up then I will slowly forget.

Growing up has much less to do with age than it has to do with how people feel about that age. Being twenty doesn’t matter, but feeling twenty does, and feeling and knowing that you are twenty can be devastating.

The older me is too afraid. The younger me is too hopeful. The result is that they both end up lying to me, intentionally and unintentionally, respectively, and succeeding.

if I'm an idiot, then I'm a pretty remarkable idiot.

I look downwards to the side. I scratch the back of my head and ruffle up my hair.

The thought "man I'm kinda pathetic" passes through my mind.

If these were medieval times, I'd probably make a pretty decent jester. Really, I'm just here to provide entertainment.

Sometimes I feel that the best entertainment would be to not be there, however. If there was a peak, and it already passed, then maybe it's better to have that remembered, instead of my trying to smudge that memory by doing anything more, regardless of what I would want.

I'm kinda jealous of those who don't know what they want.

The truth is I bruise too easily.

Some times I just can't shake off this feeling of constant scrutiny.

And that's probably because it's not just a feeling.

I'm some times kinda jealous of those people who can post what they really feel on their facebook statuses, or say what they need to say through their gtalk/aim away messages. And it's not because I want to share it with anyone. I don't. I just want to right it somewhere that I know won't be erased, which would mean online. But I know that if I did, everyone would ask me what's wrong. And this is the only place private.

They'll be concerned. They'll try to help. And they'll be sad for me. And that's so messed up. Really, it's sad when they put themselves in a position where they think they can care about what deals with me. I'm not saying I am in a position to look down on them or care about them, but at least I know that I could actually help them. And quite frankly it's because they are helping themselves, except they're doing so indirectly by making me help them. The only people that can help people who need help are those people themselves. We only believe otherwise because we choose to have the help come from an external source, or at least tell ourselves it is so.

D told me that during my 5-hour deliberation, and I know for a fact those deliberations are mostly sessions where people try to either shit-talk or feign a superior portrait of sympathy, J had actually cried for me while talking to K. Cried for me? I was so amused. Especially when she's the one for whom I had to provide constant stabilising support and assistance? Maybe I'm sounding a bit bitter, but I was just uncharacteristically amused at the thought. It's almost as though because I never complain, never say I have problems, never bring up worries, that people think I am troubled? But I digress.

There are those people: they ones who care, and think they should, and think they are good because they do and saddened because they feel they can't do anything. Then there are those who are happy because they think that if they try they can do something and believe it. Then those who care and do but then care more about how they would be affected--how if I would still be one who can be credible as one to sustain people's unity and shared images.

"I just want to be let alone for a while. At least for a little while for once."

I thought about exactly what can let people be happy. And it's actually simple. Not easy, but simple. And it's just the world. It's to be the world and to have the world. To be known by everyone throughout the world, or to be loved by one. To have every thing there is to have in the world, or to have one. I don't know what's easier to achieve, but I honestly now think that the former is the easier to work towards, while the latter, well, I have to actively try to not think about. I shouldn't be naive, too hopeful. It seems so much smaller and so much closer. But it's not that the flip-side is it is actually far--it's that it was never even there. Actively being realistic means being free from fear.

Every once in a while I'm terrified.

"Thursday Afternoon"

Verse 1:
I woke up on a Thursday afternoon
and found myself with nothing left to do.
Maybe I'll just let myself wander.

I took a stroll down memory road.
I'd like to see where this street goes
as it led me straight to you.

Now I can't help but wonder-

Chorus:
Will you miss me?
Will you miss me?
Will you think about me after tonight?

Will you hold me?
This may be the last time
that I will see you face with my own eyes.


Verse 2:
Thinking back to 'fore my graduation,
there sure were some funny situations.
But my laughs all come out in sighs.
Now I'm stuck on this one-way street
sidestepping for the bittersweet
memories as they drive on by.

And I can't help but wonder-


Chorus:
Will you miss me?
Will you miss me?
You know I'll be thinking about you after tonight?

So won't you hold me?
This may be the last time
that I will see you face with my own eyes.

Keep these memories open wide.


Tag:
Lalala


Verse 3:
To the countless heartfelt goodbyes,
to the future and the rest of our lives,
to perhaps someday meeting again
when years have passed but you're still so lovely
and we can smile sincerely
Here's a toast to everything.

Almost two years.

Yep, almost two years.
Sigh...