Sunday, January 31, 2010
All I know is that I get lost when people start giving me directions.
I've been alone. Been loved. Been ignored. Been pampered.
And I am ready now to go face the "big bad world". Because I don't believe it's either big or bad.
At any point of time in life, there will always be a handful of people who will care.
There will always be only a few I'll be in touch with.
I've often been called anti-social, aloof, insensitive and detached.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
If I appear anti-social, it's because I can think of no place worth going to. Crowded places make me feel uncomfortable. Loud music doesn't allow me to hear myself think.
If I seem aloof, it's because you haven't made the effort to come closer.
My insensitivity is only towards the pretense I cannot fathom. I am the irritating girl who's eyes well up whenever the dog in the movie dies.
My detachment is a cover-up for what I consciously will never reveal.
I don't know what I want and where to get it from.
I only know I have to keep trying to find out.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
If you must know....
I was a fat child with pigtails and braces on my teeth.
The mirror was never one of my best friends.
I shied away from having my photographs taken.
I was one of the tallest girls in class. When you're in an all-girls school and want to blend in the crowd, that really does not go to your advantage.
I was always made to stand at the end of the line during assembly time in school. The teachers and nuns had some crazy hang-up about making the entire class stand according to their heights, with the shortest ones standing way out in the front.
I was always at the far end. And the girl standing right in front of me would always had this consistent cold or stomach ache. Yes, these are my earliest memories of the school I came to love.
I was too quiet to be popular by a long shot. And I longed for classes to begin so that I would not have to wait for someone to come and talk to me. I found solace in my school books.
You guessed it. I was boring with a capital B.
I don't really have any recollection of naughty pranks I played on classmates or teachers. Because I was not included in any of them.
Things were a little different at home though. But not much.
Being blessed with a quick-witted older sibling who could talk incessantly didn't help matters much.
My parents doted on me, like they still do. I was the little innocent lamb anyone could take for a ride.
Trusting strangers came easily to me. I had a ready smile for anyone on the street who'd care to smile back, the kids and the old alike. Though I have a hunch my metal-enhanced smile really didn't melt hearts.
I was a happy child. Nothing bothered me except the occasional arguements with my sister I now so fondly recollect.
Making friends was never really my forte. Still isn't.
The child I was grew up to be a confident young lady. I think the first lasting friend I really made was after I turned 16.
I grew up to be a careful rebel. I learned how to work my way around things I didn't find favour with.
The first time I openly disagreed with people I always looked up yo is probably the first time I decided to come out of my self-woven shell.
By the time I was 20, I learned to be confident about my looks, my opinions and my idiosyncracies.
And that is when people started to pay attention to me.
Young love greeted me and I welcomed it in.
I never could be in agreement with the idea of "forever".
I realized there was more to the world than what I understood of it.
I started to read more, my hunger to know more led me to music.
There came a time when I wanted to scream out to the world what I thought of it. And so began my tryst with writing.
Of late, I have felt the childhood insecurities come crawling back.
And I don't want to let them in.
I remember how it felt to be inside that shell. It's not a sanctuary, it's a cage you build for yourself.
It's easy to find open windows when someone closes the door.
There are no windows in my shell. Just walls I can't make myself see through and go beyond.
I want to be the happy child again.
I need to go further on the journey of life. With no baggage.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I don't really know myself. That's weird, right?
I have a hard time convincing people that they don't understand me. Especially the kind who think they can size you up and pass a judgment on the kind of person you are in a day's time.
How can they know me if I don't even know myself?
Some people say I'm too talkative and are then amazed when suddenly in the middle of a conversation I decide to shut up and answer them in mono-syllables.
Others think I'm too quiet and are confused when they happen to meet me in one of those moods when I can carry on an hour long conversation with the neighbourhood stray cat.
Oh and then there are the oh-so-wise ones who'll say matter-of-factly, "You're an ambivert" which sounds more like a word for species that can stay in water or on the land.
Here I lie, waiting for the blame game to start.
It'll kick off soon enough. How I never share what I feel and how they never express what they should. How I should be more tolerant to how they should be more understanding. The list goes on..
It's the same each time.
I'm tired. There's so much more that needs to be resolved. Petty issues are more burdensome than the ones that matter.
I sense the rift I'm creating in my mind.
It feels right.
Torn between right and wrong, once again.
But who decides what is right and what is wrong?
If something brings me happiness, is that not right? But if it hurts someone else in the process, isn't that what you'd call wrong?
How do I make that choice? And why must I?
They say, "You can never have all that you want."
But why must that implicate that I stop trying??
Satisfaction, they say, comes at a price.
The catch here is that the price is my peace of mind. But wait...how can I be satisfied if I don't have any peace of mind?
Love, they say, conquers all.
But what if that love is elusive, incomprehensible and transient?
Would you still call it Love?
I would. For whatever little time it came into my life, it was well worth it.
But it's time now to move on.
It's time to seperate the illusions from the hopes.
They say I cannot decide alone when it is time to move from one saviour angel to the next. I need to find the one that'll stay be me, they say.
But I decide what I want, when I want.
I have always been logically challenged.
You won't see me winning too many arguements. But I still manage to get my way.
It's time for unwarranted decisions again.
It's time to face the music!