(In response to an improv based around the theme 'Letters You Wouldn't Read In An Aunt Agony Column')
Brilliant.
Sometimes it's not that you don't want to try. You tried, and you've exhausted all your resolve and energy.
Remember how it was like in primary school when you had your best friends and suddenly they were all poached by the 'cool group' but you weren't and so you started hanging out on your own, not wanting to seem to desperate by either A: tagging on to your old friends because they've moved on to the 'greener pasture' and subsequently be hated by everyone for being 'that annoying loser uncool person', or B: try making new friends and infiltrate into someone else's group because everyone's established their groups and by barging into another group you're disturbing the fragile balance of the classroom ethos and also because they know you've been dumped by your old friends and you're all uncool and desperate now and being friends with you will deem them uncool by association and hence you are the epitome of social suicide in their eyes.
What do you do? You linger in the shadows of the past and fade into the background of the present, always a distant reminder of the golden years of the past, and nothing more.
I always knew certain things were too good to be true.
Life has a wonderful wonderfully cunning way of lulling you in, feeding you bit by bit til you're utterly convinced and bought over by it, and your past scars fade away and you start to think that maybe all those fortified walls of yours were just due to paranoia and that life really isn't all that harsh and cold. Like the trickle of water that wears away the rock, life erodes your barriers and defences. And when you think nothing could get any better, when you feel like you are riding the waves of contentment, the wave sends you into a wall and breaks apart, leaving you drenched in the trickles of your past, left with nothing but a sore arse and an ebbing memory of the rapture. And all that you treasured and thought would stick together til the end of the world, all that carried you thus far, all that you believed in enough to lower your walls and be vulnerable again, all this is snatched away from right under you, and you never even knew it. You just woke up one day and nothing was left. All that remains is the imprint where your fortified walls once stood, which you lowered for the beauteous lives to enter, and even these beauties in their own right have now disappeared into nothingness. And what do you do? Pick up the pieces and rebuild your wall? Or start gatherin a new tribe, knowing this new tribe will one day melt into the nothingness that surrounds your soul.
I try not to judge, especially if the people are my friends. And maybe if you are one of those people who judge their friends, maybe us not being friends is a good thing, because I don't have to worry about you judging me, and my presence won't cause you strife. Maybe it's better this way.
Maybe it's time for me to hop onto a different vehicle for my journey.
Seems like the ride I'm so accustomed to has now become too exquisite for me. It's 'members only' and I'm the uncool one.
How do you move away from the past when the past is a part of you?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Everyone is unique and special in their own way. We are all unique individuals with a whole universe of back story to each and every one of us, which we oft too easily forget because of the hustle and bustle surrounding us. Infiltrating and permeating into everything we do, such that that imminent sense of urgency and superficiality becomes the quotidian, and we forget what it once meant to be real, tangible and vulnerable. No one reaches out anymore, for fear of being taken for granted, or being hurt. It's nice when someone you meet randomly, develop a nice and brief relationship with, reminds you of the more important things, and that you are unique and insightful.
We all need that someone to come by every once in a while, just to refuel us, lest we get burnt out and jaded.
Life is too full of possibilities and undiscovered beauty for us to fall into that cesspool of dissatisfaction and bleakness, in spite of all the ugliness that shrouds it.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Everyone has issues. Everyone has issues and problems they encounter. Everyone has obstacles they overcome and everyone has stumbling blocks they trip over.
I've got problems. I've got ADD. I'm obsessive compulsive. I'm a control freak. I have a shitty memory. I fail to take many things too seriously. I laugh at everything. I believe in an ideal world that ought to exist but doesn't. I believe in the goodness of humanity. I trust people too easily. I'm too emotionally vulnerable. I'm too cautious when it comes to trusting people. I get jealous in a heartbeat. I am possessive. I can ever control my emotions. I cry at anything, whether I'm sad or angry. I take everything too lightly. I have a natural lagtime of 2 weeks. I read too much into everything. I take many people for granted. I assume there is an inherent goodness in the universe. I am impatient. I try not to judge but I do. I fell into my zone of contention.
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I'd quite forgotten how strangely reassuringly good it feels to be angsty and cynical. It is very vey cathartic. Explains why George and Martha of
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? are so fuckingly dysfunctional and cut-throat and wonderfully enthralling.
Being to hunky-dorily happy leads one into a lull. That spark of cynicism and angst really does spice things up, doesn't it? Except of course the repercussions aren't always good.
Whatever, fuck that shit. I'm over it.
