Intermission XV: A Rueful Admission.

It's sobering, when you take a good look at yourself through another's eyes, and find that you're not as good as you thought you were (or would like to be).

I have a tendency to ruminate, and repeat things all over and over again, which i am trying to not do. ick. jCe once told me that the way i view things can be too extreme, too black and white. Which kinda makes sense, i suppose, since i either veer sharply towards thinking highly of myself, or simply thinking i'm the most appalling creature on earth. 

Where does the line cut in between good and bad? At this moment, i'm finding it very difficult to think of myself as a 'good' person, because i recognize that i've done something(s) bad. Sometimes i wonder if i'm simply some yucky creature hiding behind the shields of 'goodness', and that if i don't keep ahold of meself, that insistent fellow's going to pop out and rear its ugly head. and i fear that i'll one day lose control over it, and people're going to see me as the  yucky creature i am and despise me for it.

And in thinking that, i begin to depise myself. in the process of depising myself, i trap myself in a circle where i simply end up repeating that behaviour, which causes me to despise myself even more. In the end, i simply get pessimistic, and all hung up about the idea of people disliking me, without having done anything about the whole issue in the first place.

Yet, yucky or not, there're those who would walk with me, and help me work on it. those who believe i can do something about it, and that i shouldn't simply ruminate and wallow in self-pity over it. those who give me the courage to do something about it. 

And i'm grateful to you (all). More than i know how to express.

Thank you. It's way too short a phrase for all i'm wanting to say, but know that i mean it in all sincerity. *hugs*

Intermission XIV: Because That's What 'Love' Truly Means to Me.

When i hear people talk about love, as that wonderful fantastic all encompassing answer-to-all never-ending entity, i wonder what love really means to them, what they really see it as, anyway. All those symbols for love, roses, hearts, cupids, chocolates and the like. Does that all really, and i mean really, adequately symbolize love?

I've always been more of a realist than a romantic. If someone asked me how it'd like being in love.... i think... i wouldn't know what to tell them, because... to me, love's so much more than just a bunch of pretty symbols and words, or some trumped up hollywood/kdrama cliche.

I like sternberg's triangle theory of love best. intimcy, passion, commitment. all important for a consummate, fulfilling relationship. but again, that's just one part. that's about... romantic love.

To me, love isnt just 'love', per se. Love isn't some mysterious, inexplicable entity that stands completely alone by itself, untouched and separate from all other feelings or emotions. I see it as a combination of many many things, the parts of which manifests themselves in different ways in relation to different people.

My father loves me, just as he loves my mother. But he loves us both in different ways. I love the jester, but in a different way from bosom friends, and even more differently from my parents. All forms have the elements of trust, emotional intimacy, friendship, commitment and care, but each form differs from the other. Love for my parents and friends doesn't include passion, and love for my friends and the jester doesn't include filial piety.

Love is my parents not giving up on me, even when everyone else thought me hopeless and couldn't care less.

Love is my mum staying up at night to bake me muffins, so that my dad can bring them to me the next day.

Love is the friendship between the jester and i, and his doing all sorts of little things for me, his having faith in us both.

Love is those friends of mine who would come to my aid should i ever need it, and who know that i'd do the same for them.

And last, but never least, love is God having given me all, despite me being imperfect.

Looking at it in such a way, how can i say that love is just one, single entity? 

Intermission XIII: Howling for the Moon.

Sometimes, i wonder what it truly means to be talented.

People throw the word talented around so lightly. They tell me i have a talent for writing, a talent for drawing or whatever, and sometimes, i really don't think i deserve the word. if i truly had talent, why am i only able to churn out half-baked stories, or repetitive, depressing poetry? 

Ugh. Hardy-esque. And here i'm doing much the same as he is, with nary a slice of hope peeking through my verses. 

Remembering what dr M (not that damn maverick; one a helluva lot more deserving of respect) said about competencies, i think i know myself well enough to accept that i have a competency for language and writing; the question is, how far does it go before it's really talent?

Nothing makes one feel more helpless than having hit rock bottom, and being trapped in a stretch of quicksilver. or worse, a bog. And once you've climbed out of it, you never want to go back there, even if it means you're gonna have to die trying to keep yourself away from there.

So many ways i could've gone wrong. Any one would've left the trail of broken hearts and hope behind, but why one that nearly broke my spirit? Why one that took so much from me only to have me struggle so hard to find it?

Perhaps... as i told the guys... perhaps one doesn't truly know who they are until they've broken themselves (over and over again) and tried to put the pieces back. and continue to look for others to cement the gaps. 

Perhaps i'm just one idiot dog out there howling for the moon, all by its lonesome self.

Intermission XII: I'd Grind Your Bones to Make My Bread and Use Your Brains for Jam.

For a long time, i haven't quite felt as furious as i did today, so much that my hands were shaking, and i had to draw deep breaths to calm myself down.

Whoever you are, you foolish clodhead(s) with mush for brains, your pure idiocy and selfishness cost the entire class our three final quizzes and any possible chance for everyone to redeem those lost marks. 

Personally, if i ever catch who you are, i'd like to give you a sound thrashing, and a kick down the stairs, to boot.

I wouldnt at all be surprised if the rest of the class were devising all manners of horrific, vile tortures for you in their minds. Especially since miss W warned us multiple times that if you didnt give back her answer sheets, she'd punish everyone. And since you were blockheaded enough to not heed her warning, our wrath's well earned.

And oh, to another bloody hole in the buttocks, i hope you go to hell for the things you put him through. I've been told to pray for you, that you'll open your heart and not be the way you are, but for years, you've only gotten from bad to worse. And i wonder if our prayers seem like they're unanswered because even God doesn't want to bother with someone like you. 

Chapter Thirty-five: Peas in a Pod.

Once upon a time, there lived a single little pea in a pod. 

Now then, this little pea grew up snuggled comfortably against mama-pod and papa-plant, who fed it and nourished it till round and full it grew. For many years, the little pod stayed close to mama-pod and papa-plant, and did not dare to venture out into the great wide world, for fear of being eaten.

Now then, the time came for the little pea to roll out of mama-pod's embrace and find it's own way in the world. And so tearfully mama-pod and papa-plant sent the little one on its way.

And so the little pea happily rolled along.

Along the way, the little pea met a pin lying across the path. Now then, the little pea took a fancy to the pin, and told it so. But alas, the pin liked not how the pea looked, and hopped up to prick it hard, causing the pea to bleed and shrink into a wrinkled little ball. Crying in dismay, the little pea stumbled away as best as it could, while the snail, centipede and spider watching nearby laughed at it.

And so it rolled on.

Now then, this time it rolled into a fresh garden patch, in which there were many other peas growing. Pleased to see a fellow pea, the others welcomed it cheerfully into their midst. Here the little pea was happy, for it'd made new friends, and life felt good. Fond it was of another pea, who took charge of it, and showed it around, taking it to visit the other pods and plants. And thus they grew to be close friends, for are not such friends as close as peas in a pod?

Intermission XI: Phonological Loop.

For some strange reason, today i find myself repeatedly thinking about (psychspeak: ruminating) the conversation i had with Dr.A that day, when i went to return her hair slide to her.

Frankly speaking, i had no idea i'd end up having that conversation with her, considering i'd just meant to drop the slide off and pop off, but her asking about my birthday sort of opened the gates to conversation, and well, one thing led to another.

So i just sorta kind told her a little of what i (we) did, and mentioned that its no big deal, after all, seriously, what's the big deal about birthdays? especially since the 'special' ones're over and done with. and she said: don't la be so negative about birthdays.

Now that kinda knocked me off kilter, since i'd never thought about me being negative, but simply indifferent. But Dr.A being Dr.A, perhaps she picked up on something else that even i'm not aware of.

Cant say as how i havent have had good birthdays. the year before, they pulled a whopper on me (and me being the blurqueen, i didn't realise a surprise was being sprung on me till it slapped me in the face). last year, i had a simple celebration with mum and dad, then the jester and R, courtesy of the jester.

And then this year's the most wonderful of all. ethics, 306 midterms (oral somemore!) and counselling. COUNSELLING. on my birthday. Dr.A said i should've told her it was my birthday, but i laughed it off. and then she said i should've told my counsellor no sessions on my birthday. oh well.

An eventful birthday not withstanding, i think one of the most valuable things i gained that week was attending the talk J invited me to, and listening to Dr.N talk about those other religions, and our own. That gave me insight into things, and generated all manners of thoughts, some of which led me into a theological -sorta- argument/discussion with SR all the way to Ming Tian.

I lose, SR. I am simply not well equipped enough to debate and argue properly, much less convince anyone. lol. Lemme go arm myself, then i'll give it another go, kay? XD

I'm glad for you guys, who cheered me on while i was trying to swallow that burning hunk of sausage meat. I'm glad for A's getting us together with a bunch of his fellows, and for being thoughtful enough to plan in a way that allows people to be able to bond. 

I thank God for having friends with whom i can sit down trade banter over cookies with ice cream(SR, bake more cookies and the jester and I'll bring the ice cream) , and who can talk from nineteen to the dozen and back again. (oh, and get pyromaniacal with matches, a cup and a sacrificial fly. gads, i can still remember the evil look of glee on you two's faces. seriously.) i'm grateful for friends who can tell awesomely disgusting jokes (its the joker that counts, not the joke. XD) and who can tell me, don't worry, just join for the fun. Most of all, i'm grateful for the jester, who's there to tell me when i'm wrong, when i'm doing what i shouldn't be, and who's there to lecture me when i need it. 

And when my thoughts hit this spot, then i think, i no longer feel the need to write just to exorcise lingering shadows of the past. For perhaps, as someone told me, perhaps, it shouldn't be anger and betrayal i'm feeling, but resignation. And with it, more than just a wee bit of pity, for you'll not be someone i'll keep in my phonological loop.

Chapter Thirty-four: Vermillion Wash.

My heart bled the colour of a painted sky
Fresh reds and golds of a marigold's eye
Work, my lips and tongue, to speak in flames
The gush of wild words that my mind tames

There on the hearth did the creature lie
Burnt, purified, dying with one final cry
Once, twice, thrice more did it haunt me
Have the shackles finally finally broken free

Brilliant vermillion, crimson in its heat
The colour draws me, hard does my heart beat
Red, the colour of life, the colour of blood
May you my life, my soul with vitality flood.