27 January 2012
Hi there.
It's been, what?
2 months since I last posted?
I'm sorry about that.
I know, I know.
It gets old.
Time and again.
Having to apologize everytime I don't post for extended periods of time.
But I really do feel sorry each time.
Why, you ask?
Well.
It's because I feel like I cheat myself.
Cheat myself of the opportunity to express myself.
The only opportunity, really.
So it's quite stupid of me.
To keep everything bottled up.
And opt to spend time on less meaningful things like Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr.
It's not like I don't have anything to say.
I have a lot to say.
Every day.
Thoughts just flood my mind like rain in December.
So many things that's funny, that's witty, that make sense, that's true.
Things that make me feel sane by letting them out.
But I don't.
Or at least I haven't been doing much of it.
Not much of letting anything out these days.
And I feel so...
Unheard.
Tell me if this is strange.
I've never been the kind to mind having to leave school alone.
You know, make my way to the MRT station all by myself.
I never wanted anyone to be walking with me.
I never had a problem with walking with my thoughts.
But nowadays.
Walking alone makes me feel so...
Isolated.
Not a mere sense of isolation.
But as if someone.
Or everyone.
Like everyone's alienated me.
It's a silly feeling to get when all that I'm doing is walk out of school.
But it's a feeling no less.
And I don't understand why I feel it.
My own company used to be enough.
It used to be all that I asked for.
All that I needed.
But now.
I feel so scared.
Scared of walking alone.
By now I'm sure you're thinking that this is all a metaphor for something bigger.
Like 'm starting to appreciate the importance of friends and whatnot.
And maybe you're right.
Maybe that's what I'm starting to see.
Maybe.
I have been spending a little bit more time with my friends outside of school more.
Unlike me, exactly.
But I'm trying.
Trying to make something out of this last year of seeing everyone everyday.
Because I think I'm going to miss it all when it's over.
Hahaha.
About a year ago that kind of thinking would make me hurl.
In a way, it still does.
But I'm trying.
To go against everything in my body to have lunch with my friends.
Friends.
I used to wonder who needs them.
Or who needs a lot of them.
When you can have the few that you really care for and know that they care for you.
You know.
I don't profess to comprehend it.
But I think that some people just aren't meant to have friends.
I really think so.
Like.
I think they strive best without having friends.
Like I said.
I don't know how that sort of thing works, but I think that that sort of people do exist.
I'm not talking about myself though.
I do need friends.
And I need myself too.
More than anyone else really.
But I need friends.
Sure.
Of course.
Friends.
A good friend of mine called me overly sensitive the other day.
Because of something someone else said on Twitter that turned out not to be about me or my other friend.
And yeah.
I agree with her.
I am overly sensitive.
Her observation didn't make me angry.
Not at all.
But it struck a chord.
Because I feel like one shouldn't make such statements without understanding.
Understanding why I'm so overly sensitive.
She's not wrong, like I said.
She's as apt as anyone who doesn't know me can get.
And I trust her as someone who makes on-point observations.
But that aside.
Let me scratch the itch that I have with what she said.
I am overly sensitive.
I am.
Overly sensitive.
I'd like to keep it short.
(Not because it's 1am and I need to shower and start on my GP work.)
Because if I were to explain everything it would take another 18 years.
18 years.
Let's start with that.
18 years of being in the dark.
18 years of doubt.
18 years of fear.
18 years of not having anyone else to be honest with.
18 years of not being like anyone else.
18 years of crying in the most odd of places.
18 years of not even having my family to turn to.
18 years of worrying that the slightest bit of revealing myself would spell the end of me.
18 years of people making fun of the way I walk.
18 years of people insisting that I tweaking my eyebrows.
18 years of whispers.
18 years of sneering.
18 years if laughter.
18 years of side-eying.
18 years of people talking behind my back.
18 years of being called a sissy.
A girl.
Pondan.
Bapok.
Fag.
Fruitcake.
18 years of being called gay like being gay's the end of the world.
Like it's a punishment from god.
18 years of feeling that I don't belong.
Of feeling that there's something wrong with me.
That I'm wrong.
It takes 18 years of all these things.
And more.
It takes all of that to explain everything.
To explain why I'm so fucking broken inside and so put together outside.
It's all of these.
All these people.
All this time.
That's made me the insecure little boy that I am.
That's made me.
As my friend so conveniently poignantly put it.
Overly sensitive.
I'm 18 years old for fuck's sake.
And I'm still so all over the place.
I'm fucking 18 and yet I feel like a fucking zygote when I stand next to a group of secondary ones.
18 and I still can't look at someone in the eye without wondering what judgement of me they're forming.
18 and I'm still not able to grow up.
Despite promising myself the world.
Despite comforting myself that things will get better when the 7 becomes 8.
That some miraculous change will happen.
You know.
I sometimes feel like I'm a product of some tragic cosmic hiccup.
That my existence wasn't warranted.
Wasn't meant to be.
I don't say such things out loud, of course.
Because it makes me sound self-consumed.
Like I mean something bigger than I really am.
I know I'm not that significant.
But sometimes I can't help but feel like I'm a mistake.
That every person whose life I've entered is suffering the consequence of my existence.
But then it sets in.
And I remember.
I wonder then.
Why does it feel like I'm the only one suffering.
Like I've committed an indelible crime.
A sin since even before I was born.
Things that go along the lines of "It's not fair." and "I've never had my way."
But again, I don't say such things aloud.
Because I'm just a speck in the whole mass of billions.
But back to being overly sensitive.
(If I even left it.)
Nothing much else to say.
I was being overly sensitive.
I am overly sensitive.
Because I don't want to have the added burden of constantly wondering if and why someone thinks so negatively about me.
The burden of not knowing.
The burden of worrying what everyone else thinks of me.
Because really, I already have all those burdens.
And quite frankly.
It'd be quite selfish if I were forced to be left wondering if what was said what directed at me.
It's be fucking selfish if I were to go through this year.
The final year.
My 'A' levels year.
Preoccupied with such thoughts.
Selfish
that if it was indeed true (which I know now it's not,) that I'm left
feeling like shit, having to go through emotional and mental torment
when someone else feels better about himself by belittling me.
You know.
That's one of the reasons why I don't get the majority of the people in school.
Or maybe just a select few.
I don't get how they can live with themselves.
By living on the very basis of thinking that they're better than everyone else.
It's silly.
It's laughable.
It's pathetic how they have this delusion of running the school.
Actually, maybe they do.
But I don't get it.
I've not tried, but if I did, I don't think I'll be able to comprehend the brand of ego that they subscribe to.
Such conceitedness.
And in their own way.
They're bullies.
Typical bullies.
Who, just by their very presence, make you feel like a victim of ridicule.
Yes, I just ranted about a group of people who don't deserve my time.
But I've always wanted to get it off my chest.
And here's a little something you should know about me.
One thing, if anything, that I'm completely am certain about myself:
I hate bullies.
I hate bullies.
When
someone causes someone else to suffer, when someone is scarred, is
tormented due to the actions of a bully, I think that's the lowest that
anyone can go.
That that sort of person deserves hell for making someone else's life hell.
18 years of emotional abuse.
Perhaps mostly perceived.
Or self-inflicted.
But either way, I don't want to have to go through more than what I've been going through already.
So I hope you understand.
I don't like having to explain myself.
In fact, I think that it's irritating to have to explain myself.
But I found this necessary.
Because no one is just overly sensitive.
No one is overly sensitive without reason.
Least of all me.
18 years.
2:26 AM
