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Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Between Those Intervals


I found myself struggling throughout the day after a good CNY break. Assessments, homework, deadlines, finals, etc. My plate was overflowing all of a sudden. From bits, it came with a big scope and to be honest, I was terrified (still am).

Part of me wants time to move forward fast, to the phase that I really want but part of me wants time to stall once in a while, so I can catch my breath after each wave, though most of the time I'm usually holding my breath under water; not sure how long or where I'm heading. I should know by now that things don't always, almost never go according to the way I want. Maybe the blame should put on human nature for wanting so much. Why I never like 'hope' that much.

However, while doing my work, I had an epiphany. I think that's really important, maybe it's not how fast or slow time flies but between those periods, those intervals. As sappy as it may sound but it rings a bell, I supposed. Like how when you read a book, you're living in that time of the book, whatever era it might be or B.C.. Or a long car ride, enjoying the long road and those snap bits which catches your eyes along the way. During those times, you're living between the intervals and I think that's what really matters.

It's hard when boring routine shatters those intervals. By the moment you wake up, you're already looking forward for the day to end. I hate when I get that feeling, it makes me feel I'm wasting the entire day, wasting those intervals by not participating in it.

So here I am, 1:40 am writing this post because this is when usually I live in my intervals.


Tuesday, February 12, 2013

These Are Not Rants


Scrolling through my timeline on Twitter, sometimes I get repulsed or annoyed with what some people had to say. Often I think of the many ways to respond to them but I don't. Ultimately it hits me that I'm following them, can't I? That leads me to think about more stuff (which is never really good). So I end up saying whatever I want to say in my head and scroll away.

Lately, I'm beginning to notice that I rather dislike many things; be it small or big, whether it affects me directly or indirectly or even, not at all. The way some people type for instance can determine on how long the conversation would last because even at the first sentence or word can put me off if it starts off wrongly. Or the way someone dresses too, can be an annoyance. I'm a firm believer in comfort dressing but I also believe you should present yourself well especially when you're meeting up with others, it's simple courtesy and manners. I don't like how some people think or how oblivious they are to certain things, making me bending my head down and struggling to find a place to hide.

There's so many things I find myself turning my head away from that I begin to ponder if there's anything I actually like. It's hard, for me at least to find someone I genuinely like; the kind of like I would love to hang out and talk all day and look ugly in my shorts while eating pizzas at home. While I'm not the kind who wants 10 best friends (I don't believe in that), I find myself excluding to one or two people at a time.

Maybe I'm a bit too hard on people and on myself, but it's better knowing what you don't want than what you want.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Don't Talk About My Blog

I find it unsettling when someone mentions my blog to me. It's alright, I supposed if they make comments about it: "it's nice" "it's emo" "you read a lot" "you're so sentimental" (yes I received those comments) but when it comes to the more personal side of my blog, "what is it about?" "was it about this?" and all a sudden, I catch myself squirming, avoiding eye contact and get feverishly uncomfortable. Well, you guessed it but really, is it necessary to directly ask me that.

But you blogged about it.

Uh, I can see that. Though I never once blog about events word by word, I'm not writing a report; it's more of how I felt, thought and wondered at that precise moment. The gist of the event is there but it's not subtle because that's not what important. I always had a perception that what's really important is your state of mind at that time. That quivering or burst of emotions; twitching or knotting of the wires in your head, those little annoying, aching or precious, delightful things which carry the weight of the story and make up what it is.

So when someone asks me if I'm referring to this person or regarding that occurred, I'll usually say "Don't talk about my blog." Sometimes I catch the offended look on their faces but most of time, they'll nod and keep quiet, probably thinking that I'm being illogical since it's on the internet. But that's one thing about me, I know that you're reading this right now, for this short span of time I've allowed you to peep into a window of my house and after that, I'll close the blinds. If you see me on the streets or in class, all you will see is bricks of walls.

You may or may not understand of what I've wrote but that's the truth.