*

Well I’m sick of this town, this blind man’s forage

They take your dreams down and stick them in storage

You can have them back son when you’ve paid off your mortgage and loans

Oh hell with this place, I’ll go it my own way

I’ll stick out my thumb and I trudge down the highway

Someday someone must be going my way home

Till then I’ll make my bed from a disused car

With a mattress of leaves and a blanket of stars

And I’ll stitch the words into my heart with a needle and thread

Don’t you cry for the lost

Smile for the living

Get what you need and give what you’re given

You know life’s for the living so live it

Or you’re better off dead

- 'Life's for the Living' by Passenger.

because at least posting a song is far better than some pointless rants.

Day 271

I really want to write an article describing "How does it feel to be a failure."

We see too much of "How to be rich" and "How to be successful" books in bookstores. Seriously. And no one effing knows how does it feel like to really flunk an exam. 

That's why we created a society that's afraid of failure, no matter how many motivational failure-related pictures we share on facebook. That's why we created a society of insensitive old women and men who look down on kids who fail. That's why we became bitter persons when we fail.

Because we are a society who glorifies richness, big cars, and titles in front of our birth names. We are the ones who share gloriously on how God has "paid back" our goodness with cash and happy lives. We never want to talk of failure as a good thing. We never want to say it's a God-given thing, because it clearly is not.

Who's going to speak for the ones who failed if we often equate God with success? 

Oh I forgot. 

This world isn't for failures. It's a place for successful people. That's why we learned about natural selection. The weak dies and gets wiped off. 

And unless you came out of this world and landed straight into a platinum-coated bed, you gotta work your ass off and never ever rest and let your guard down. And always remember you're not as smart as you think you are, and you have to spend all the time you got by studying everytime you know you should be studying. Because trust me, I swayed away from my own principle and now I face the consequences. The one who told you that you can handle it all will never know the pain you feel when you reach the end and clearly messed up your own life.

So you really still don't know how does it feel, don't you? 

I can summarise it all. It makes you feel so stupid that you never really knew your own capabilities to know that you could have always said "No" when you knew you're incapable. Some doctrines are not worth following. I know it's not worth it because 271 days have passed and I still can't get over it, out of so many things I have gotten rid of, this is the only thing that keeps on haunting me. 

Sing Us a Songgg You're the Piano Mannn

Sorry. Random title.

I haven't told the world how much I love Billy Joel's song Piano Man. It doesn't matter if I didn't, I guess. And it surely won't make a difference if I did. Piano Man is such a unique song that makes me happy and melancholic at the same time. It feels like riding a roller coaster (I have never been on a roller coaster before, how sad). Or Ferris wheel. Or simply swaying your head slowly sideways.

Anyway I've really been losing the reasons to blog. You won't be having the same reasons you had 6 years ago. It all started for fun, to write crap, to write about Thai actors and Thai dramas and Thai songs because I couldn't find school friends who would love to listen to my weird obsessions. Then the crap continued about how I loved secondary school and the things that happened. And occasionally I used my blog to vent out my anger without being specific because I always hated the head prefect who loved to only scold other prefects (now I'm being specific).. and then I started posting random reflective posts because I was out of secondary school and I began thinking it's time to grow up but then college life caused me to use this blog to complain, whine and curse. And tell things that I should've learnt to keep to myself.

I'm sorry.

Tonight I'll be posting up something because Cindy asked me to. I did think of writing a blog post but the whole idea of getting a request freaks me out.

On the evening of 2nd April, I received my first parcel which was totally something unexpected. Being the no-lifer who only found joy in Tetris Battle, of course a parcel from India is like the biggest highlight of the day/week/month/year.

I kept it on my bedside table, promising to myself that I will not be opening it until the supposed day, because only that can keep me excited for days.

Two parcels then arrived on the same day, 9th April, but not simultaneously. One arrived while I was napping. The other arrived just as I woke up.

I kept all three on my bedside table. For the first time in so many months, it felt so good to wake up, hoping that I'll finally get to open the precioussss presents.

I knew the first one was a book, because it felt so much like a book, and I guessed it had to be something about faith, because Suan doesn't read chic-lit. And I did guess Nick Vujicic's book, because I was planning to buy it. Andddd it was..

Suan must've mastered the art of mailing books,
that wrapper is not something I would've
thought of.. 

I always told a friend that I don't easily buy what motivational speakers or evangelists or leaders say, unless they've been through enough hardship to prove that they are truly sincere about helping people who struggle in life, without setting money and fame and fancy things as one of their priorities. I know it sounds like judging but it's just what I kept thinking of when seeing acquaintances who live tough lives and in the end do stuffs that people hate and you see nice guys trying to bring them back to God but it just makes them bitter because people won't listen if they can't relate or if you don't listen first. This is so emo so I'll talk about it some other suitable day.

Anyway I'm glad I finally get to read this because I want to know Nick's stories and what he says about God. Because people have a lot to say about God.

Next parcel..

This one was from Sharon, which she wrote "Gift - book" in the description, but definitely did not feel like a book at all. I was very curious about this one. I nearly thought they were chocolates instead -- and all these while I was squashing a chocolate box or something.

I tried hard to open it nicely using my penknife, but it ended up like how it would if I used a chicken's foot instead.

Its contents smelled of India. Not that I've been there before, but it just smelled like it.

I love the card. It's so cute. And the calender
would be far beautiful than me if it was a
woman instead.

The box that I guiltily squashed when it still had its wrapper
on. Squashing it made me know that it wasn't a book. But
Sharon wrote that it wassss.

And the last parcel, which I didn't have to guess what's inside..

...had so many layers of plastic and wrapping paper and paper again and box and they all smelled so Irish. Again, I've never been to Ireland but I assumed its the general smell of Ireland (or most probably just Cindy's house..) but please don't freak out that I sniff on things. I don't. 

I nearly thought I was about to receive an insulated mug
(which I read loudly as insulted mug and then laughed out
loudly. I know, I'm pathetic).

I don't know what to say about the scarf. Hahaha (nervous laugh) since the day Cindy said she managed to get one for me and enclosed a photo that proved it's not hers but she has two, I always felt guilty because I know she'll post it to Malaysia. 

There is a long background story about this scarf. I was in Form 5, about to sit for SPM, when I suddenly had a clear vision (vision sounds quite holy) dream an ambition  to spend my 20s looking cool in a uni overseas. I had have (present tense, since I still have it) a weird interest in universities (and schools) that are old and full of traditions. Scarves are one of the beautiful symbolical tradition that I adore dearly. The seniority system is another (like how good guy senior helps lost scared junior), which explains why I look up to some seniors. And Latin university mottos are awesome. 

Sorry my brain got distracted.

Anyway there must be one moment when I jokingly told Cindy I love looking at university scarves on Wikipedia because I'm such a weirdo T_T and she remembered (which makes me want to cry..) and then one day I was being told that I will have one for my birthday. Which I seriously think is an honour. 

I also received a colourful card that looked as if Cindy was
colouring so furiously. I still can't figure out if it's crayon or
coloured pencils.

This is beautiful. Ireland is such a cool country.

...and I received a letter!! Letters are so rare nowadays. I
keep things because of their sentimental values and I'm
definitely treasuring this, (of course, after reading it). The
feeling of reading a letter is so different compared to emails
and facebook posts.

Thank you Rachel and Cindy for the t-shirt too, which fits perfectly (How dare you said I might be fat!).  No pictures here because I took a picture of me wearing it. Now I can wear my brown trousers and green sweater and greeeen Irish shirt and pretend that I'm a tree, just like what Rachel told me during CA one year ago. (What?! One year ago?). Oh, what have I done with my life..)

Anyway a blog post without a conclusion is pointless. There's nothing else I can say. I don't deserve all these kindness and wishes. I didn't feel like celebrating anyway, because ageing closes doors with all those age limits in applications. One of the doors is called education. But we'll talk about that some other day. The warm wishes were enough to remind me that if humans can love me, surely God loves me. I love these people dearly. Those who have wished, and those who didn't. Choosing a one and only special friend is like choosing a one and only favourite book to me. It's hard so I rather not do it. Because every friend who saw the worst state I've been in so far have endured my bitchiness and rudeness and negativity and coldness, I really don't deserve to ask more from anyone. I lost my chance to medschool but I finally found what I've been looking for all my life, the answer to the questions I've been asking throughout secondary school life whenever I questioned my function in the gang. I always wanted a friendship where I can be my true self. Where I can be confident that I feel belonged. I'm pretty sure I can stop finding already.

It feels like I've been writing this forever. I'll make sure I'll keep this blog alive again someday, if it matters. Till then, thank you for teaching me the good side of teen/young-adult friendship, unlike the things I've seen and heard before I left for college at age 18 years 2 months.

Whispers

It's hard to find the reason

when all you have is doubts.

Hard to see inside yourself

when you can't see a way out.

Hard to find an answer

when a question won't come out.

Oh everyone's filling me up with noise,

I don't know what they're talking about.

You see all I need is a whisper 

in a world that only shouts.

Oh Mike Rosenberg a.k.a Passenger really writes beautiful lyrics. He is most probably the only artiste that I would love to ask to sign my guitar.