I know (think) it's not my fault that things turned out the way they did, but I feel a measure (a large portion) of it is my fault for not knowing how to be content with a good thing, for not dealing with things properly, for shutting down without sufficient explanation and in general just not having been adult enough about this. It was dysfunctional almost from the outset and I just kept hoping that somehow things would work themselves out. All things are for the best, I told myself, and well, they really weren't, and now it dogs my every step.

There is a certainty about M Hire's misanthropy that is welcome. The completely opaque nature of human relationships, or perhaps, worse, the constant possibility of misinterpreting intentions and actions, render it fertile ground for perceived snubs, imagined insults, and plain old unconcern. Perhaps i am a dying trout flopping in the wake of a retreating wave, the water but a few feet away, and the next rush only in time to collect my still body.

I finally said it without bawling my eyes out and losing all meaning in the random utterances of idon'tknows and i'msorrys. I'm not sure how things will turn out, I guess, because I never can bank on things happening the way I imagined they would. I'm feeling a lot of unease, as I come closer to a future that I really am not sure is going to pan out quite right. The more I think I know about myself, the harder I think the subconscious brakes are being applied to possible alternatives. I envy the loves, the lives, and the will of the people around me, and it just makes me a very unhappy green-eyed bitch. I think I'm profoundly unhappy, but it stems from an personality-based insecurity that I am not quite sure how to overcome. That's why I laugh when people say they envy my life, because I would trade my life for theirs in a second.

People grow up and become less unreasonable, more in control, and generally slide into the shoes of Adulthood. That used to be something sacred, that beyond the awkwardness and moodswings and big feet gawkiness of being an adolescent lay the age of Reason and intelligence and authority. I'm still waiting on that.

Such a strong nostalgia attack like i've not had in a while. It's true that memory blends everything into a lovedove affair. Like Paul's birthday last year, and mine, and all the dinner parties we had where after i stuffed my face unashamedly, we proceeded to laugh hysterically to the point of nearly barfing everything right out again in the name of cutting through the post-dinner coma. even going home on the tube after was just a wonderful end to all the great nights. even in the cold. and the rain. mmm.

It's like all the emotions and memories of that night are encapsulated in the photos in very strong doses of nostalgia. Yikes. Becoming an old reminiscing woman.

I want to say but cannot say leh. how. die. doomed to live a life of lies. or not overt lies. more like lies by omission. i'm very good at omitting.

cold hands.
warm body. hee!
going crazy with not being able to do any work that requires concentration. but it seems to do wonders for randomwikimarathons and cooking.
cold hands.

I don't quite remember feeling ever as queasy as this. I never feel quite at ease, there's always this nagging tugging of my stomach as it seeks to find a resting spot away from the constant churning. It must be a defect in the design to be able to be mired in depression. A short circuit somewhere, though perhaps mental health isn't a priority. We survive, and the sun comes up again tomorrow.

There was a bonfire at my doorstep yesterday night and i'm not quite sure what it was for except that it was close to one, and it was a motherbig unprotected fire. And i am fairly certain that there was a chanting/prayer session which disrupted my sleep a couple of hours in. But the dream that it was some form of exorcism i am fairly sure was an explanation my sleeping brain was trying to put together.

Daftness.

There are probably a dozen more elegant ways to put this but fucking misery just encapsulates the stupid angst and self-dislike (i hesitate to use hatred here) most succinctly. and with least effort.

Sitting in starbucks is like sitting in an oasis of nearlythesame around the world. It's the season of the christmas cups which make me irrationally cheery. The hovering lamps, the generic music, the tables which must all have been made in china and shipped around the world. It's slightly obnoxious to imagine the possibility of turning a corner in a most remote land and coming upon the brightgreen sign which simultaneously scream hot coffee! and american imperialism haha. But. hot coffee.

I'm sitting here looking out at the denizens of Shanghai walking past my Starbucks window (I'm thinking I shall claim this spot despite the slight distraction of the turn-and-lookers) feeling in need of being amidst society. Not the impersonal larger-than-oneself's society, but people to talk to about everything and anything. about randomness and how wonderfully sunny it is today. I guess I miss that here. and I've only just realised it and no one seems to be responding to my tentative gestures at claiming a part of someone's afternoon to do that. humbug.

I don't understand this irresistible sense of happiness that shortcircuits me when i see an adorable child stumbling along the streets hand in hand with her grandmother, very seriously concentrating on taking in the environment and placing one foot in front of the other. It's not a sense of impending motherhood, but this primal, instinctive urge to scoop her up in my arms and baby her to death. possibly poor choice of words. but still hee.

A mite too late I am. to go this crazy. a word i use regularly of late,i realise. It's impossible to get anything done when one is this distracted. Distraction. Me, the shirker from confrontation, am distracted enough to try to do something about it. But I don't know how to go about doing it (other than picking up the nearest axe, sharp or not, and blindly charging in.)

stalk pounce devour.

闷骚was right.
how completely appropriate. when can i get it through my head that this is just throwing eggs against a really really hard wall?
They should list social impairment as a disease.
I can understand why psychologists are a necessary component of society. i want one :(

If I were a superhero, I would want to be able to a) have a perfect memory, b) be psychic, and c) be capable of teleportation. Which just reminds me of the anne mccaffrey rowan books haha. which i loved. even if they may seem completely cheesy and corny now. "Gestalt" forever bears the shade of interplanetary teleportation.

I've had a nervous stomache (it does look more respectable doesn't it) for more than a day now. there's no rhyme or reason. but I can place one of the major parts of it in my bedamnable slow-of-wit/quick-of-shame social skills. And here I thought that one of the few advantages of outgrowing adolescence was the confidence-growth bit. instead i find myself constantly categorising myself in the plasterdogbythedoor category and hating every minutesecond of it.

There are few things worse than not being able to feel comfortable about one's limitations in life. the grass is indeed greener on the other side. actually, the grass is on a scale of greydull to luscious green and who wants to be just yellowgreen.

I wish i knew for sure. There is a certain tragedy in the reality where there is no way of knowing the alter. The silences I interpret are simultaneously overlaid with realityB. The second/triple/quadruple guessing of disgust, disappointment, restraint, impatience, annoyance, could be complete fiction or a manifestation of my superb psychic abilities. I dip my toes in, and pray that a beneficent whale with a flick of its tail will engulf and draw me in inexorably into the depths of the midnightrich waters. But the pond won't fit a whale.

I colour gray. grey. gray. dullard indefinite indecisive grey. humans are very poorly designed creatures. All i want to do is sit in certain warmth in definite technicolour. I don't mind slight scratchiness, but i need a whale.

Only in the throes of a mood does the urge to write something claw its way into the fog of inertia that binds me to unproductive uninspiring routines. Having been seized by the relentless combination of acquisitionfrenzy and bookgreed i burnt my way through hundred yuan bills and i am now a proud owner of two very tall stacks of books which are just crying out for me to somehow overcome the relentless haze of insufficient energy to devour. Although i must say that being in the midst of five open reading materials of a great variety of interests ought to at least create some sort of impetus to finish some of them.

if this were a darwinist survival of the fittest, i would be eliminated based solely on the inefficiency of my mitochondria.

So, blutack isn't the strongest adhesive in the world. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the humble blue servant is unable to cling on to its baggage as the walls tremble in the wake of the traffic on the tireless road outside.

I can't seem to shake the tired phrase of "it's been another of those days", so i might as well just let it lie. I had images of chicken stew in my head, courtesy of one of those unnameable cravings that i have been getting in waves for the past few weeks. And so on top of, crawling over the words that were supposed to be describing realism to me was my imaginary trip to the wmart, picking up the chicken, the casserole for the chicken, the dried herbs for the chicken, tramping over to the wet market for the veggies to go with the chicken; me making the stew, smelling the stew as it cooked slowly over the by-now-familiar hissing of the gas stove, even the dreaded washing up of the various used utensils. And therefore, neither work done, nor stew in my belly.

It's such simple complaints really. nothing earth shattering, nothing bonebreakingly stunning. It's me, poorly functioning mitochondria and randomly misfiring synapses. If my brain were the worker and not my body, <--- i actually hate setting up these phrases because then the follow up would have to be a killer.

I'm in the mood for mono and mogwai.
Does that explain more things than these appallingly bland words?

I think i like being twenty-one going on twenty-two. It's a different sort of feeling from when it was in the teens, the age of illogical self-gratifying angst and uncertainty, pretending to be older than i really was/am, and well, basically, different. Can't really pinpoint it i suppose. because i'm still angsty, still uncertain, trying to deal with the world, and realising that my self-image is a completely warped-in-my-mind version of what people really see, grappling with the question of how much of my existence depends on what other people think about me, because it's much easier to say i don't care what people think of me and actually not caring. i still fit in uneasily with people, always occupying a neglected corner, hoping people will come over to say hi, and then not knowing how to get beyond the hi. What is the purpose of all this preoccupation with my lack of social ability skills, i wonder. Shouldn't there be a greater aim in life i should be worried about, thinking about? It would be easier to be happy unaware of how i misfit socially, how i am entirely inadequate to social interactions. my occasional inferiority complex steps in and prevents me from happily ignorantly enjoying a hedonistic existence. sigh. i am feeling existential. except it doesn't mean anything to feel existential, because it ultimately means i'm not doing any productive (again, the definition of that word is problematic) and wasting precious time on pondering the unponderable. Everything is subjective, everything is questionable, depending on where you stand. Without a solid hard core to grip on to, how do you not get lost and turned around constantly? In between all these uselessness, all i think about is what my next meal is going to be, what i'm going to wear tomorrow. there is no greater purpose.

then said, i am happy to be in my twenties. because somehow it feels like i'm slowing moving on to something else. something slightly more exciting perhaps. i'm completely illogical today, well. i am illogical most of the time, another of my annoyances at myself. the inability to see things in crystal clear logical sequence. but anyway. twenty two, with the very satisfying double slight exhalations, seems like the age when anything can happen. at the cusp of adulthood (though i suppose that that was possibly suppposed to have happened at sixteen, eighteen, or at the very most twenty one) but twenty two has the air of respectability to it, and thus somehow, to do anything at that age, regardless of "respectability" seems most exciting. though it is debatable how "exciting" anything i do could possibly be.

we were talking about mean streaks the other day. and i've definitely got it. the indomitable urge to snap at people for no reason whatsoever, my complete inability to be unreservedly nice to someone unless i want something out of it whatever it may be, it really sucks to be so darned aware of exactly what i'm doing and why i'm doing them. i analyse everything i'm doing to death and it makes me sick to be me. sometimes. a lot of the time actually. but still. someone's got to do it i guess.

gods. i hate people who're completely oblivious to their surroundings. spare a thought for other people please instead of stomping around and just annoying the hell out of me.

I was watching Voices of a Distant Star, and it struck me how true it is that it is in the little things that we find the most comfort in, things acculturated by the environment in which we brought up. Like how i find standing in the neat aisles of a grocery store immensely calming, and how i miss the constant chatter of the crickets from my place back home. The crash and thunder of the storm outside and me comfortably under my blanket. the smell of the people i love. the sounds of people showering which i used to analyse to identify the phase they were in -- shampoo, soaping, standing in the shower. They can't be the same for everyone, but it's always in the details, and always excitement-worthy to find people who share the same ones.

bah. my tummy is malfunctioning and telling me it is hungry when i know it can't be since i've just shovelled too much food into it. and therefore i shall move on to in the mood for love after lust.caution which i quite enjoyed.