Dear Anonymous Readers,
I've been a bit distraught lately. Distraught from the disappointments. Distraught from the betrayals. It's funny, that I say betrayal as if it was something that significant. Well it is not. Not in their eyes at least. But important enough to me that my thoughts have been preoccupied with them ever since it happened.
I just woke up from an afternoon nap. Morose slumbers I call them as I would feel very sullen everytime I woke up. Sullen at realizing how time had disappeared while I slept. Sullen at opening my eyes in the faint lights of dusk. Sullen at waking up to silence. To abandonment. These are my Sullen Evenings. And they never fail to pester me everyday.
Kei
Monday, February 16, 2009
Cinq.
Dear Anonymous Readers,
Worldly aspirations have eaten up whatever time I have left. I woke up each day with the sole intention to fulfill material desires and self gratification. I have digressed. For a while there wasn't any effort from me to see the world as something more than just a physical existence. This convenience, was probably an escape that my simpleness longed for. When life is full of pain, it's only natural to be driven by goals and dreams that promise shallow comfort. It's hard to think of any other option, when one is in that single line of thinking. I am not sure myself if I have gotten back on track.
Days are now blending into each other and I am at the mercy of the fickle amount of distinction they have left. It's is bitter for the days to have no credible significance to stand as an individual, distinguished class of seven. Moon, Sun, Tyr, Odin, Thor, Frigg and Saturn. Those that they have been inspired by are revered entities in their own right. So those seven days should do justice and carry that reverence that have been baptised within their names.
Oh my, I might very well have gone mad.
I became too complex over the years. Ten years ago pain was being told off by your parents or not getting that shiny new toy you just saw on TV. There was no depression, filial expectation, rejection. I didn't understand those things back then. I didn't understand the world. I was naive. And now how I wished I was still naive, because life seemed so much simpler like that.
Ignorance is certainly bliss.
Another wave of sorrow is probably on its way. I can't continue writing if I'm swept away. It's better to stop this for now.
Kei
Worldly aspirations have eaten up whatever time I have left. I woke up each day with the sole intention to fulfill material desires and self gratification. I have digressed. For a while there wasn't any effort from me to see the world as something more than just a physical existence. This convenience, was probably an escape that my simpleness longed for. When life is full of pain, it's only natural to be driven by goals and dreams that promise shallow comfort. It's hard to think of any other option, when one is in that single line of thinking. I am not sure myself if I have gotten back on track.
Days are now blending into each other and I am at the mercy of the fickle amount of distinction they have left. It's is bitter for the days to have no credible significance to stand as an individual, distinguished class of seven. Moon, Sun, Tyr, Odin, Thor, Frigg and Saturn. Those that they have been inspired by are revered entities in their own right. So those seven days should do justice and carry that reverence that have been baptised within their names.
Oh my, I might very well have gone mad.
I became too complex over the years. Ten years ago pain was being told off by your parents or not getting that shiny new toy you just saw on TV. There was no depression, filial expectation, rejection. I didn't understand those things back then. I didn't understand the world. I was naive. And now how I wished I was still naive, because life seemed so much simpler like that.
Ignorance is certainly bliss.
Another wave of sorrow is probably on its way. I can't continue writing if I'm swept away. It's better to stop this for now.
Kei
Quatre.
Dear Anonymous Readers,
I realized the days are getting longer. The air is getting warmer. It's about time to say goodbye to the winter half of the year. Summer is coming. As much as I hate to admit it, I really liked winter. Its cold kept me inside most of the time. The long nights gave me a chance to spend time with myself more.
Winter is a lonely time. The solitude helps me to discover more of myself. Or maybe it's just me thinking more than I should. Whatever it is, the leaves are growing and the squirrels are coming out to play. I shouldn't feel dejected. Winter will always come back again. I haven't lost anything.
Winter is a lonely time. The solitude helps me to discover more of myself. Or maybe it's just me thinking more than I should. Whatever it is, the leaves are growing and the squirrels are coming out to play. I shouldn't feel dejected. Winter will always come back again. I haven't lost anything.
Sometimes I feel like I have nothing worth saying. Nothing worth reading. Just odd thoughts sifting through my head. I get moved by the things I hear, or the things I see. I only wished that I could move myself with the things I do and the things I say.
When I was in high school, I always planned that by the time school's over I would burn all my notes and books. It wasn't about disrespect or anything. I just wanted to symbolize an end, and in this case the end of school. The years of formal education. The days of wearing uniforms and singing camaraderies. The innocent time when mistakes are forgiven and cruel realities kept outside. Yes. It's only fitting that It should have a proper goodbye.
But I ended up not burning anything. It's a pity though. They would have burned nicely. Just like trash.
I should be studying now.
Kei
Trois.
Dear Anonymous Readers,
As the minutes pass, I'm starting to think that I might be suffering from paranoia. That mental disease is not something I like to be associated with. Paranoia is something for the weak. I am not weak. I am strong enough to have made it here on my own.
My thoughts don't come as smoothly when I'm staring at the screen. Unlike when I'm lying down on my bed, eyes closed and all other senses numbed, that I would think about the most inspiring things. The same goes from when I'm having a shower. Feeling only the water flowing down my body and leaving all my other senses impervious to the surrounding creates the perfect environment for my thoughts to flourish. Maybe that's what I need to be able to write. Having only one sense working at a time. My mind would then be transfixed at that one sense and thinking becomes easiest thing in the world.
Another reason why my writing isn't as interesting as my thoughts is that it takes so long for words to be typed out here. My thoughts moves fast without any stops. By moving at this snail-like speed, my head can't function at it's best potential.
At times I feel like the things I wrote sound so uninspiring. It's blocky, or jagged. I really need to find better words to describe them. Anyway it seems like I knew this much, but I can't really do anything.
Sometimes I asked myself. Am I really depressed? I sure don't sound like it. Maybe it's all in my head. I could possibly be more delusional than depressed. Then, it could just be these words. These words lie. And so does the other things about me. Pretending was something I taught myself for sake of being accepted, and now I am at a stage where I can't tell anymore if I'm pretending or not.
I'm that good.
I'm tired. No. Not really. I just feel that I should stop here.
Kei
As the minutes pass, I'm starting to think that I might be suffering from paranoia. That mental disease is not something I like to be associated with. Paranoia is something for the weak. I am not weak. I am strong enough to have made it here on my own.
My thoughts don't come as smoothly when I'm staring at the screen. Unlike when I'm lying down on my bed, eyes closed and all other senses numbed, that I would think about the most inspiring things. The same goes from when I'm having a shower. Feeling only the water flowing down my body and leaving all my other senses impervious to the surrounding creates the perfect environment for my thoughts to flourish. Maybe that's what I need to be able to write. Having only one sense working at a time. My mind would then be transfixed at that one sense and thinking becomes easiest thing in the world.
Another reason why my writing isn't as interesting as my thoughts is that it takes so long for words to be typed out here. My thoughts moves fast without any stops. By moving at this snail-like speed, my head can't function at it's best potential.
At times I feel like the things I wrote sound so uninspiring. It's blocky, or jagged. I really need to find better words to describe them. Anyway it seems like I knew this much, but I can't really do anything.
Sometimes I asked myself. Am I really depressed? I sure don't sound like it. Maybe it's all in my head. I could possibly be more delusional than depressed. Then, it could just be these words. These words lie. And so does the other things about me. Pretending was something I taught myself for sake of being accepted, and now I am at a stage where I can't tell anymore if I'm pretending or not.
I'm that good.
I'm tired. No. Not really. I just feel that I should stop here.
Kei
Deux.
Dear Anonymous Readers,
After reading through my first post a couple of times, I find the whole composition vain and self absorbed. It was not how I imagined it would sound like. There wasn't that hopeless suicidal tone that I intended it to have. I sounded confident, maniacal even, with not a single hint of my depression. It's true that that I write my posts everytime I am sullen or emotionally disturbed, but the process of transferring what I feel into words somehow went haywire in the middle and the result is this flawed representation of my suicidal sentiments.
And yes, although I wished to remain androgynous, my style of writing should have given way to my true identity. Boys and girls are subjected to follow this 'codec of acceptable actions' that differentiate them from each other. We were all taught a certain way of acting belongs to a boy or a certain way of thinking belongs to a girl. So I can't run from this classifications as I have never experienced being the other gender. I would have not known how they would have written all of these instead.
Anyway, enough self badgering for now. I could go on forever about all the wrong things about me.
Today I went to pick one of my exam papers from my professor. I couldn't get up this morning for his class. Something held me back down and told me not to go. It could have been my defeatist side, telling me that there's no use to attend that particular class today. If I let that side of me had its way, I would feel like there is no reason to attend any class or do anything. It will tell me not to bother myself with worldly things and lie down and decay naturally to the earth. But I wouldn't do that.
Anyway back to my professor. My encounter with him, how should I put it, was something I would have avoided. He is as amicableless as anyone could be. Crude. Boorish. No sense of decency or patience. Not even a "You're Welcome" when I said "Thank You". His stare might as well translate to "You are wasting my time".
No matter how horrendous it was, I left the place wondering what was wrong with me. Wasn't I polite or friendly enough? Fault always come to me first. I would blame myself. And because of this tasteless incidents, I would prefer to choose not to interact with anybody. I rather walk and enjoy the world pretending that I'm the last person left. But my dreams of being ignored never come to existence. People would always direct their attention to me even when I do not ask for them. I can't be left alone.
And again, I am tired. Perhaps another thing about my posts that I particularly dislike is that I tend wind my sentences around a simple subject. I could have been more straightforward. But that would have taken more energy than needed.
Kei
After reading through my first post a couple of times, I find the whole composition vain and self absorbed. It was not how I imagined it would sound like. There wasn't that hopeless suicidal tone that I intended it to have. I sounded confident, maniacal even, with not a single hint of my depression. It's true that that I write my posts everytime I am sullen or emotionally disturbed, but the process of transferring what I feel into words somehow went haywire in the middle and the result is this flawed representation of my suicidal sentiments.
And yes, although I wished to remain androgynous, my style of writing should have given way to my true identity. Boys and girls are subjected to follow this 'codec of acceptable actions' that differentiate them from each other. We were all taught a certain way of acting belongs to a boy or a certain way of thinking belongs to a girl. So I can't run from this classifications as I have never experienced being the other gender. I would have not known how they would have written all of these instead.
Anyway, enough self badgering for now. I could go on forever about all the wrong things about me.
Today I went to pick one of my exam papers from my professor. I couldn't get up this morning for his class. Something held me back down and told me not to go. It could have been my defeatist side, telling me that there's no use to attend that particular class today. If I let that side of me had its way, I would feel like there is no reason to attend any class or do anything. It will tell me not to bother myself with worldly things and lie down and decay naturally to the earth. But I wouldn't do that.
Anyway back to my professor. My encounter with him, how should I put it, was something I would have avoided. He is as amicableless as anyone could be. Crude. Boorish. No sense of decency or patience. Not even a "You're Welcome" when I said "Thank You". His stare might as well translate to "You are wasting my time".
No matter how horrendous it was, I left the place wondering what was wrong with me. Wasn't I polite or friendly enough? Fault always come to me first. I would blame myself. And because of this tasteless incidents, I would prefer to choose not to interact with anybody. I rather walk and enjoy the world pretending that I'm the last person left. But my dreams of being ignored never come to existence. People would always direct their attention to me even when I do not ask for them. I can't be left alone.
And again, I am tired. Perhaps another thing about my posts that I particularly dislike is that I tend wind my sentences around a simple subject. I could have been more straightforward. But that would have taken more energy than needed.
Kei
Un.
Dear Anonymous Readers,
Today I decided to create myself. My existence has been around for awhile and its about time I'm given a proper name and a pseudo-physical body.
I never liked the traditional concepts of gender and sexuality that play a role in human society today. Ideas and physiological characteristics like that limit the expression of the soul. There are always boundaries that are not meant to be transgressed because of them. These restrictions gives way for a safe and controlled growth of individual humanity. The end results are always the same. Mechanical. Uninspiring. Supposedly the reason I'm created is so that although such a bleak fate seems inevitable, there's a path for the mind to escape to. My physical body, speech, and actions must conform to the norms of society. No matter how strongly I disagree, I am not excused from ending up like them. At least by creating myself, I would save one part of me hidden from the rest of the world, accessible to only me. My mind can still be saved.
So here I am. Constructed as a back up plan retain whatever uniqueness I supposedly have. On the other hand, my name, parallel to my distaste in gender roles is androgynous. Or at least that's how I thought it sounds like. So yes from today I will be known as Kei.
Didn't I just defy the natural laws? It seems not only God has the power to create. I do to.
I'm guessing that introduction to my so called creation was confusing and unrelatable. Weird would be a better word to describe it. My name and everything else I'm made up of pays homage to the authors and that has inspired me to be different from this monotonous world. I can relate to the loneliness from not being understood felt by the protagonists. Somehow it seems that the universal theme of all the works I have read is the prevalence of individuality in the mind. The characters are not able to act honestly to the real world and has to keep their rebellious thoughts to themselves.
I've felt that way too. The feeling of being caged. I was always left to entertain my thoughts on my own.
I would have shared them with others. But not everyone has the patience or the interest to put up understanding these things that the world choose to scorn at. They are probably the direct products of that safetrack growth and upbringing I loathe so much. Mechanical. Uninspiring.
I have this tendency of becoming physically tired after thinking. It looks like I'm only able to write short posts. This would be a nice place to stop.
Kei
Today I decided to create myself. My existence has been around for awhile and its about time I'm given a proper name and a pseudo-physical body.
I never liked the traditional concepts of gender and sexuality that play a role in human society today. Ideas and physiological characteristics like that limit the expression of the soul. There are always boundaries that are not meant to be transgressed because of them. These restrictions gives way for a safe and controlled growth of individual humanity. The end results are always the same. Mechanical. Uninspiring. Supposedly the reason I'm created is so that although such a bleak fate seems inevitable, there's a path for the mind to escape to. My physical body, speech, and actions must conform to the norms of society. No matter how strongly I disagree, I am not excused from ending up like them. At least by creating myself, I would save one part of me hidden from the rest of the world, accessible to only me. My mind can still be saved.
So here I am. Constructed as a back up plan retain whatever uniqueness I supposedly have. On the other hand, my name, parallel to my distaste in gender roles is androgynous. Or at least that's how I thought it sounds like. So yes from today I will be known as Kei.
Didn't I just defy the natural laws? It seems not only God has the power to create. I do to.
I'm guessing that introduction to my so called creation was confusing and unrelatable. Weird would be a better word to describe it. My name and everything else I'm made up of pays homage to the authors and that has inspired me to be different from this monotonous world. I can relate to the loneliness from not being understood felt by the protagonists. Somehow it seems that the universal theme of all the works I have read is the prevalence of individuality in the mind. The characters are not able to act honestly to the real world and has to keep their rebellious thoughts to themselves.
I've felt that way too. The feeling of being caged. I was always left to entertain my thoughts on my own.
I would have shared them with others. But not everyone has the patience or the interest to put up understanding these things that the world choose to scorn at. They are probably the direct products of that safetrack growth and upbringing I loathe so much. Mechanical. Uninspiring.
I have this tendency of becoming physically tired after thinking. It looks like I'm only able to write short posts. This would be a nice place to stop.
Kei
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