This place is boring, so whoever reads my stuff, I love you.

Wanderlust

I caught myself laughing at my stupid imaginations. I do that a lot, to be honest - I mean both imagining and laughing at what has just crossed my mind.

 In the book Looking For Alaska, one of the things I remember Miles Halter saying (very insignificant, I suppose, yet very true) is that

"That didn't happen of course. Things never happened like I imagined them."

I like making things up in my mind. It makes me happy, and perhaps it is the simplest way that I can enlighten my mood. And that I'm glad because things I imagine never happen.

People often take that as a disappointment, but I don't. I am actually quite happy that things never happen the way I imagine them. It is not a disappointment to me because I know from the very beginning that it is only my imagination, it is just what I randomly make up. Oh and believe me, nobody will ever want those things to happen. My imaginations are nuts, I'm telling you.

I was sitting on the sofa reading a book this afternoon. While half of my brain was drenched in the words that are beautifully written by Cecelia Ahern, another half of it wandered off a bit. I started mapping out my own family tree, adding some crazy little details to make it a family of mystery. When it reached far enough to my great-great-great-grandfather, I imagined the secret bond he had with the ancestors of Lee Ka-Shing (probably still the richest man in Hong Kong), and all the deepest, darkest unsolved mysteries about these two families; nevertheless, the fact that my great-great-great-grandfather helped Lee Ka-Shing concealed the truth eventually got them both killed. I imagined danger came after us, and how generations after generations of both of our families lived under the threat of being murdered. I imagined the fear we had to live with, then I imagined my sister being kidnapped. Then my mind got back on track again. Everything in my imagination, POOF! Gone. So I went back to the book again, thanking God how this could never be true, and that my sister was sleeping soundly in her room instead of being kidnapped.

It was merely 60 seconds and I could already make up ridiculous stories that I wish would never happen. Not to mention, the little suspense short story of my family background was hardly related to the book I was reading. It brought me excitement, though. The thrill was indescribable, it somehow made me laugh a little about my silly, yet interesting, thoughts.

Maybe this is what life is all about. When it tightens you with its strong force (like when one dries a towel), draining all your energy away until both your mind and torso become exhausting, it is always good to wander off a bit, do whatever you want; and after a while, get back on track again. This is not easy for some people though, they are afraid of getting lost if they wander too far away by mistake, that is why they choose to stay on track with life, until the tiresomeness of life sucks their souls dry. Or that they may think it's a waste of time to take a holiday from life. These people who are not willing to let go of their life for a while will hardly ever have a taste of happiness. They keep surviving under no fear of getting lost, but at the same time, they keep surviving without taking a break, learning to laugh a little.

My imagination takes me away from life for a while, and it has so far been the best place for me to wander off whenever life tires me. What about you, where do you usually wander off to?

The Green-eyed

Jealousy is what has been dominating my thoughts recently. Jealousy of all kinds: when I see someone else being very close to my best friend, when one of my friends always has it all, when some good looking girls always gets what she is not supposed to deserve.

It's insane, not to mention, very immature, I know. I can't help it though, I'm always insecure and I really don't know how I can change it. To be honest, I don't feel good about myself. I don't like anything about myself, from head to toe, from my skin to deep inside my bones. Not that I hate who I am, or that I'm going to kill myself, but I just don't feel comfortable in my own skin.

Usually, I start off being envious of them - of the nice smile they have, of their charming personalities - then it's when my insecurity interrupts, every single time - not like I want it to! I hate when it happens. It bugs me and never stops. It bothers me to even think about how I will never be good enough. Yes, I am good, but I am not good enough. And I know myself so well that I'm dead sure I will never be, no matter how hard I try. This is how I'm born to be - good, but never better.

Sometimes, people try to convince me that it's only me myself who is standing in my own way. They talk about how everything would get better if I just let go of the thought of who I think I am to become who I want to be. I'm not saying that it's not their place to judge, because perhaps it is - but I did try. I tried so many times even more than the times you blink. Now you see, I am still who I am, the person who longs for being a better me, but never being able to do it.

There's no reason to it. It's simply myself. It's simply who I'm born to be. I would imagine life as a transparent cylinder, and we are the insects that have been kept inside of each of our own cylinders. Some are living inside a longer cylinder, while others are living in shorter ones. I might just as well happen to be the insect that live inside a shorter cylinder. I try to find my way out. I climb to the top. I've done my best to reach my top - to be good - but being better is never my top, it is someone else's, I can't shove them over and reach their top, can I? All I can do, is to watch others reaching a higher spot of their cylinders from inside my own short one. While doing so, the only feeling that swallows me bits by bits is jealousy.

I sound so pathetic. This is perhaps the most pathetic entry I've ever posted up here. If you want to criticize my way of thinking, go ahead, you are beyond welcome in doing so. Judge me for being silly, shallow, immature, if you think your opinions can be the cure for my sick way of thinking.

Teach me to be good enough.

The Bat

Once upon a time, the birds and the beasts had started a war, for to be the species that took control of the world. The beasts were led by the lion, and the birds were led by the eagle. The battle was intense, birds took the lead, they had their advantages:

They attacked the beasts way up high from the air. They dropped rocks to crush the heads of the beasts. Many beasts got killed as they could barely lift up their heads to watch out for flying rocks.

Creatures fought bravely for their species. At this drastic moment of war, the bat was left out. It had trouble deciding which party to side with. However, knowing the birds were taking the lead, the bat thought about the triumph they would be able to win. For this reason, it turned to the eagle, stretching out its arms and said,

"I have a pair of wings. My ability to fly has proven my stance with birds. I am one of you. Therefore, I will fight bravely and honorably for birds."


The eagle was very pleased to hear how noble and valiant the bat was. It promised the bat a share of the throne if they won the war. The bat was delighted, so it joined the birds in the war and fought with courage.

Some time later, the beasts took the lead. Monkeys and leopards killed the birds at night when they were resting on trees, unaware of the attack. The bat panicked. It was worried about being captured to be a prisoner of war. It decided to change its mind, then. The bat hid his wings and went to seek safety. It turned to the lion,

"I have the body of a mouse. I can sneak into holes, taking down the birds and their nests without being noticed. I am what you need. I can help you win the war."

The lion was beyond glad to know the bat would help them conquest the birds. Seeing the sincerity of the bat, it promised the bat victory. The bat felt secure with the beasts, for it thought they would win the war.

Have you ever wondered why bats live in caves and only come out at night?

The story ends like this:

The birds and the beasts finally made a truce. They decided to stop the war to cut down the loss of food and their habitats. The two species had even built a kingdom - led by the lion, guarded by the eagle - to ensure the safety of the animals.

Both parties were hunting for the bat, for to destroy the hypocritical creature. They looked for every trace the bat had left, hoping to find where it was hiding.

The bat found somewhere to hide, of course. It lived in a batcave and only came out at night, so that other animals would not be able to notice its existence. It had never felt any lonelier as it was now. That is why, for thousands of years, bats live in caves and only come out at night.

There must have been times when we encounter bats in our lives. In fact, I have known several of them already - from school, from work - they are certainly one of my pet peeves. I've noticed the high school drama that I came across earlier. Every single incident happened because tension was stirred up between different parties at school - it was funny, really, to see some people switching sides from time to time for their own advantage. It is not my place to judge though, for different people are born for different reasons. Yet, for some, they live for making profits that are beneficial to themselves, and by that, they are willing to do anything it takes to fulfill their desire, even immorally.

Who are the bats in your life? Perhaps it is yourself.

It's not the fact that you're back bothers me, it's just that you're back but I don't feel you anymore - it bugs me so much.

I really want to love you, you're everything I had longed for. But I just don't anymore.

Sebastian's Effort

I heard a story which I can relate to myself. The story goes like this:

There once was a man, he wanted so bad to win the lottery. Therefore, he prayed to God every day and night for to win the lottery.

For years of praying he could win the lottery, still, there was never a day he had a slight chance to win. He never gave up, though. He kept praying every single day and night, until he grew old. Then, he got sick and was dying. He lay on his deathbed, still out of breath, asked God,

"Father, for all these year that I have prayed to You to grant me the wish of winning the lottery, days and nights, never a moment have I ever lost faith in You. Why, though, you never let me win the lottery? Please tell me, Father, what have I done wrong?"

God replied him,

"Sebastian, I did hear your prayers every day, and I could see your effort, really. However, I still cannot grant you your wish, for you have been praying to win the lottery but you never go buy the lottery ticket,"

The man died without winning the lottery.

I am one of those who talk about doing it, while others go and do it. It is my number one problem on the list that I know I should get rid of, and I am trying to, but still stuck in the same phase over and over. I really hope I won't be like Sebastian, only talking about living my wildest dream but never pursuing it.

Are you another Sebastian?

"And life is too much like a pathless wood"

In Birches, Robert Frost wrote,

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

Because of his weariness of considerations, and that he feels lost in life - And life is too much like a pathless wood, he wants to leave this place for a little while - not permanently, though - so that he can leave all his obligations and responsibilities behind, and before long, he would like to come back and face them. It is marked that his will of returning is based on the appreciation he shows towards life - and that is what he finds on earth: Love. His escapism is only temporary. In his poem, it strongly suggests that Love is one of the reasons that gives him the urge to run away, but it is also the reason why he chooses to return to earth instead of escaping to other places. The experience of love torments him as much as it strengthens him -

Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

There is no other place that he'd rather be than on earth, where love exists.

Frost writes about his childhood of swinging on the birches, of being flung up and down from the ground to the air, then from the air back to the ground. He parallels this motion with his wish of temporary escape, illustrating the escapism is as though swinging up toward heaven and then down, returning to the ground.

I would like to be a swinger of birches, too; for I don't have the courage to leave this place for ever, and because even though a specific element in life has hurt and crushed me, it somehow has been what keeps me motivated at certain times. Undoubtedly, life is tiring, for we have to bear our responsibilities and duties on our shoulders at any time, but still, the million years of time (including BC) where human-beings have existed through, most have lived by bearing heavy loads of obligations until the end of their lives.

Extracting another poem by Robert Frost, Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening - we live, because we have obligations and responsibilities that we are under. Even if we encounter the temptation of escapism, or perhaps a death wish, we have to carry on with our journey. At least for me, this is what I will always do. Life is tiring,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

"When I hear our song, I get that same old feeling,"

The Sandbox, the Swing, the Monkey Bars

I used to think happiness is always around, and that those who try looking for it will eventually succeed, for they deserve it. But now, after my, precisely, 17 years 5 months and 3 days of living, I've learned that happiness is not a choice. Some are born with it; however, as we grow older and maturer, happiness still fades, no matter how hard we fight for it.

When I was in kindergarten, happiness was nothing more than having a shitload of fun inside the sandbox. I was satisfied with the least because it was all I knew - the sandbox - I thought it was what the world was all about, and right at that very moment when I was fiddling with sand castles inside the sandbox, I felt I owned the world. I had been the happiest kid compared to the others who were standing outside the sandbox, waiting to take a bite of what completed me.

I got ambitious when I grew older. I learned that sandboxes were not the only facilities in the park that could entertain me - I saw swings. They gave me excitement I could not gain from playing with sand. Sadly, there were only two swings in the park, and I particularly liked the one on the right (perhaps because it was yellow and because it was on the right). You see, people always share the same interests, so I was not the only kid who preferred the yellow swing on the right, there were many others who liked it like I did. As a matter of fact, the more scarce things are, the more desirable they become. Somewhat, the swings became rare - because there were only two swings in the park in total, everyone had to queue up to play, those who were swinging would occupy for a longer period of time since they knew there were many others who wanted what they had - they knew what they had was so precious that people longed to have a share of it. I had waited long enough to just swing on it for a couple of minutes - I got tired of waiting. Even so, I did not give up. I stood there waiting, still hoping it could be my turn to swing on it before Mom came looking for me. Whether I had successfully swung on the swing is not the matter, because either way, I felt truly unhappy for the first time.

Here I am now, seventeen years old, about to finish my last year of high school after this Summer. I am not old, nor wise, but I did go through many things which others at my age never have, and perhaps never will. These experiences have taught me life lessons, they have given me knowledge in different aspects. As much as they have enlightened me positively, they have also broaden my horizon to make me see many other negative things in life. And as my life goes on, I've found that happiness is so much like a light, only it gets dimmer each day as I come across different circumstances.

The more we learn, the closer we are to the world around us. I come to realize the greater diversity of lifestyle we encounter only causes greater desire. But desires are not always likely to be fulfilled, such that, it gives us disappointment. Therefore, the more we know, the less happy we are - because happiness in itself is a rareness that cannot ever satisfy everyone at the same time.

Some years later (after the indulgence in the swing), I went back to the park where I used to line up for the swing. It was late at night, and it was vacant. I sat on the swing and swung like I was a ten-year-old, this time, only knowing that I could never be ten years old again, because I knew that the swing was not the only facility in the park - I saw the monkey bars.

We are most alive in dreams.

I cannot agree more with it. Indeed we are. In our dreams, we do whatever our subconsciousness has been telling us to do but we never act them out when we're wide awake. Perhaps because of all the limitations in reality: not having the balls to do it, not realizing we actually give a shit about it, struggling between what we want to do and what's against our morality, and so on. But when we slowly submerge into the state of relaxation, then from our sleep to our dreams, we will be able to do what our subconscious minds urge us to.

And the feelings we get in our dreams are the most intense. That's why when we dream of suffering, the pain brings us back from our dreams to the reality, waking to an ache that you cannot fully understand the reason to. That's also why when we dream of fulfillment, it awakens us to the joy that slowly kills us, given the fact that the intense happiness is a feeling too overwhelming that eventually, we know it can never be true.

I went to bed at 2 a.m. last night. It was when I dreamed of you. It felt like a whole day in my dream, and yet, I woke up to only realizing that it had only been an hour, or even less.

In my dream, we were talking. I saw your smile, as warm and as sweet as usual. We were sitting in the middle of a wheat field, and I could see the sun going down. I couldn't exactly remember what we talked about, I could only relate our conversation to supper - you were probably proposing a dinner at my place, to meet my family. Yes, now I slightly remember, you told me you couldn't wait to meet my parents, to see what kind of people they were. Then the sky started getting dark, and the wind blew stronger. I was cold, we stood up and were about to leave. You saw me tremble and was about to give me your hood but the very moment when I reached my hand for it, you turned to look the other way, and you wouldn't let go of the hood. Then you kind of snatched it back and ran away. I blinked, but then you were nowhere to be seen. I lost sight of you in just a blink of an eye. I started weeping and the feeling was way much worse than when I woke up. It hurt so bad in my dream, and the tears wouldn't stop falling.

My heart skipped a beat. WHAT A CLICHE. Okay, shut the fuck up for a little while, just let me finish.The first thing came to mind was the urge to fight back the tears, but I realized there were no tears back in reality. Moments later, I thought long and hard about what had just happened, I had little clue about it, though. Anyway, I managed to write down as much as I could remember right away. Still, I was sad the second when I woke up. The nameless soreness in my heart kept me awake the whole night. Indeed I didn't sleep last night. It was rough, I have to tell you. I even watched the Green Hornet for the thousandth time and drank the tasteless Ambrosia (It was supposed to be a kickass drink but my sister screwed up by adding too little vodka into the milk, which had tortured my stomach the whole night). I just could not get it out of my mind, needless to say, out of my heart.

In my dream, I felt as if I was dying inside. And the dying-inside-feeling-that-will-only-ever-be-experienced-in-my-dreams sensation was what made me wide awake, realizing I had never felt as alive as I was in my dreams before, in compare to the feelings I had in reality. The goddamn pain in my dream had nearly killed me, ironically, it made me feel so alive when I knew I was so close to being killed by the hurt. However, back in reality, it was only a bittersweet that wouldn't stop bothering me and, tragically, kept me from following my regular sleeping order - which then, after the thousandth time of replaying the Green Hornet, I fell back asleep, regardless of the fuss about the sadness - because after several hours, I felt numb likewise, because it has become one of the ways of how I choose to deal with the constant feeling of missing you for all these months.

Anyhow, the feelings I get in my dreams are so much more intense than that in reality. For that reason, I do believe that we are most alive in dreams.