stagnant

feel like i am not living life to the fullest:

i am neither working hard nor playing hard, i am just drifting in between, missing the feeling of being alive & constantly running back to relish in the momentary remnants of remembrance, yet finding myself incapable of reenacting how it feels to have one's heart singing like a bird, having its first whiff of air outside the enclosure of a cage 

i am doing a little bit of so many things that in the end i don't even know what i am doing

having one of those nights where i wonder what i am actually doing with my life, how my friends are all going to go to wonderful places & i will just be stagnated in one spot, being mediocre, feeling mediocre - aimless, only capable of falling in love with ideas 

i miss the school library but until i finish my lit texts i am not going to set foot into my favourite place (but i really dislike how i regard lit work as secondary, as a "waste" of time in comparison to other more "pertinent" subjects, when the primary purpose of taking lit this year was to prevent such a situation)  

can we all just go back to december 2k12? 

i miss murakami nights, i miss reading classics with stolen hotel tea stash, i miss visiting kino & feeling like a traveller finally going places, i miss going for cheap ice cream with my favourite people, i miss feeling enchanted with joy in m&s/times i miss everything but the only way to go from here is forward

(conquered 2.4 with 1F & had my celebratory glass of apple juice from the fruit stall for accomplishing my goal, perhaps i should really start setting smaller goals for myself-- instead of really hefty ones where i lose heart then end up comparing with people & we all know where it goes from there) 

reticence

the kind of silence i will relish in, is one which permeates with an air of inexorable understanding, despite the lack of utterance

perhaps the lack of words is the crux of comfortable silence: maybe words will never be able to do justice to pensiveness that can only be sent through telepathic brainwaves & retrieved through the wired arteries leading to the heart

// class camp tomorrow, let us all fall in love with the idea of reading 'age of innocence' under a blanket of stars

(my heart sings when i'm around like-minded, unconventional people)

i miss feeling truly alive

i miss solitude, i miss spending quality time with people who know my need for placidness even when i am around them, i miss 2k12 with the bunny roaming around 'm&s' & 'times', or stopping by for cheap ice-cream in marina square after work, or even jip period where i could go off by myself to seek my own quiet spot in the school, untouchable

& watch time elapse as people, languid bodies, drifted fortuitously about, while i sat back to watch them drift from afar - there is a distinct difference in being a spectator instead of a participant

or maybe it's because people can be really tiring to keep up with, especially relationships you would rather not keep

(smarting eyes but praise the lord i am finally done with ihist term assignment + my part of gp proj, i can cry relieved tears in the midst of fatigue & accumulative exasperation) 

(old) photos of the sea never get old

people

“I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.”

-sylvia plath

it scares me how one can never know how real a person is and i just get so exhausted when dealing with people sometimes i wish i could have more solitude, because at the very least i know that i can trust myself, even if i am existing in another realm of the world: i rather believe in the idea of myself than an idealistic conception of fallible people who are inherently carnal

still struggling to find an anchor point but the moon just gets fuller: the currents get stronger & i can't find anything in me, or in the seaweed-strewn sea to hold on

instead the clammy hands of the weeds estrange me: they choke me & leave me utterly repulsed

nothing keeps me 

(& i cannot help feeling i've been played to subject myself to this predicament, all the 'promises' coined with mere air, the hyperbole of rejoicing: all these empty things which were instrumental in my decision, all these empty things which vanished into nothingness like the substance of their wretched beings, yet this place of struggle is where You ordain me to be- h e l p) 

headfirst

i am like Newland Archer, i fall in love with ideas

i dive headfirst into something without knowing that the ground had always been hard

sometimes i wonder which of my days are not spent enrapturing myself in an artificial construct,
cushioned by my own bubble of unreality that only i have access to

maybe that is why somedays when i wake up,
i still feel queer, the aftermath of reality undealt with:
as if the things that had passed, the things that had been lost,
they had never been gone at all