Things Don't Make Sense

The thing with depression is that you never realize you're getting there until you're in it. It's never an overnight turn of events (though that may be the trigger) but it's that moment when your brain is screaming at you with white noise at 3am in the morning and tears are streaming down your face and breathing becomes a problem that you hit the brakes and think to yourself, "Oh god, I'm in depression."

Of course that may be just me.

No one ever likes talking about depression because it's not a fun topic. No one would expect me to have depression either, because I'm not exactly unfamiliar with unicorns and rainbows and preppy bright colors. I wouldn't have thought I'd ever be here again. I thought depression was just something that you can get over once and build an immunity to, like chickenpox.

There is nothing strong about being in depression. People might discuss this whole concept in a classroom or in a group and someone might say, "Oh, you must be so strong to have gone through depression." It's nothing to be proud of. It's not a shining success to put on your resumé. It wasn't a conscious effort to cry myself to sleep and wake up before the sky grows light and throw on some clothes to go for classes in the cold. It was just routine. It allowed my mind to be on autopilot. It allowed myself to grab the cup of coffee and chug it so I can pretend that the migraine spreading through my skull was a side effect of the coffee, not the crushing stress of being a fuck-up.

In the same way that a homosexual may say, "I may not want to fuck that person, but I can still tell that the person is attractive.", I can still decide that today is a beautiful cool fall day, with the warm sun shining through the sparse clouds and the chilly wind calmly blowing into my hair to give it that attractive bouncy air. This does not mean that suddenly my life is all glitter and happiness and everything-in-the-world-is-right.

Often I wonder if I'm just too weak to make it, or if the world is cruel and we all living like this. If I am weak, then what will be the end of me? If the world is cruel, then what will be the end of us?

I find no reason to hide my depression now, possibly because I'm under the delusion that I'm so far away nothing will hurt me (though was that not one of the reasons why I'm here) and possibly because even American air smells of LIBERTY LIBERTY I DO WHAT I WANT I AM NOT SORRY FOR IT. The constant upkeep of my moods are rendered useless when I never see the people who even matter to me. I have no need to pretend to be keeping myself together when I don't even know where to begin. To my family and friends who see this, please don't worry yourself unnecessarily for me. I appreciate it, but I don't want it.

The Worst Thing About Growing Up

You see, I realize now that when my mom told me to not grow up so early, she was right. As she is with many many things.

Growing up isn't just necessarily "I'll do what I want" or "I'll make the decisions" or "It's my life" (guilty as charged). It's what comes after that, when things don't look so good and you chew on the short end of the stick muttering regrets. Mistakes happen, yes. But growing up means taking the bull by the horns and blaming no one but yourself.

I could name so many things to blame: the system, the people, the paperwork. Yet I can't, not really, only reluctantly. The only thing I can do is sigh and hope for the best. Ultimately I was the one who made the decision. Was it a good decision? No. Was it a bad decision? Probably. Should I have thought about it a lot more? Yes, but I understand at that particular moment in time I was desperate. It still isn't an excuse though, so I'll have to pay for that.

Taking responsibility for yourself is a hard course of action that isn't popular with anyone, but it is one we must take. Suffice to say, this time around I have truly learnt "I'll make the decisions" and won't ever make decisions influenced by others.

Consequences of Decisions

You know those days when you realize, deep in your heart, that you have an issue at hand, and it's between a rock and a hard place. It's between a rock and a very hard place.

I love decisions, and I hate making them. To do so is an act of responsibility, to bear the consequences of that decision.

To make a decision to eat chili pan mee, for example, when you are sick and having a sore throat, is to bear the responsibility to deal with the consequences of suffering your throat burning.

I hate even more the decisions that deal with the future. How am I to know that I have accurately dealt with the decision I was faced with? How am I to know that I have made the right choice? I've promised myself to always make my decisions with careful thought and to never regret my decisions on the basis that they were the right choices at that specific time with my current knowledge. This promise, of course, has caused myself great stress concerning all my life choices.

Fast food for dinner? Deal with the bloated tummy myself.

Spend my money on clothes? Deal with the uneasy weeks with extremely tight budgets.

Fly across the world to continue my tertiary studies alone without guidance? Deal with all the bullshit that comes along from the public university and homesickness.

I realize how easy it is to let myself go and roll in bed without a care in the world, giving nary a second thought to such decisions and instead go with "what you feel like".

Without a doubt the only thing I feel like right now is to fly straight home into the arms of loved ones and eat all the chili pan mee (and other terribly delicious Malaysian food I hungered for as I scrolled Instagram late last night) I can eat and live the rest of my life without a care in the world, watching TV shows and writing stories.

Unfortunately, that is not an option I can entertain, not even in my mind. Such is the consequence.

What can I do right now but to stop myself from breaking down and punching people in the face? Look on the bright side; look on the bright side... There is none.

Stay In My Room... Forever.

Back in Malaysia I wouldn't have understood why people choose to stay in their rooms all the time- things I read on Tumblr, I couldn't relate to. For me, I needed to be with people, with friends.

I now know why. I can relate; I am very much hoping to stay in my room forever- at least I feel that way right now. I don't know where to go; I don't know who to call; I don't know what to say, what to think, what to...

Perhaps I'm still trying to recover from walking San Francisco for the whole day... I'm unsure. But right now I am simply wishing to be alone; or at least with comfortable company...

Being on edge is taking a toll on me; I dread people, I dread interaction- this may be the introverted side of me coming out in full form in this highly extroverted culture; but I simply don't want to do anything.

I'm hoping next week changes some things. Perhaps I can meet some new people, join some clubs, see new stuff, expose myself a little more.

I'm not very hopeful right now, but I'm not completely frustrated.

I just wish you were here.

In Limbo

I've been putting off going to America for much too long, and it frustrates me.

On one hand I'm so reluctant to leave my home, my friends, my life here in Malaysia... On the other I'm so excited, so desperate to want to explore and be amazed.

I've met some problems with my application, which set me back another half a year. And in this free time when I step out a little to experience with my internship, I realize I'm not young enough to hide behind a silly reason for not being useful or responsible anymore.

I'm 20 years old with nothing to my name, with plans long-discarded or abandoned.

The same friends who used to look to me enviously because I'm granted the gift to study abroad have already experienced their first years in another country, being scared and overcoming their fears. They've grown up, matured somewhat, and gained a fraction of independence.

At the same time I sit at home and scroll the depths of the interwebs, aching for such a day.

I know it won't be easy- then again nothing ever is, and an object at rest stays at rest- but do I ever want to be part of the buzzing, vigorous life. Creating magic and filling the world with saturated youth and blind optimism because I can, because I want to, because I believe so.

I want to go out and explore, fly away and find new things, open my eyes to controversy, think scandalous thoughts and write about things that inspire, disgust, interest, horrify me all with enthusiasm only the young can generate.

Except I don't want to end when I'm not-young, I want to end when I'm not-remembered (which implies that I will not die in traditional silly means like body decay) and when no one knows my name anymore.

Of course all this is nothing but wishful thinking, because we all think we can change the world.

Now I just need to get up and do something about it.

Trigonometry, My Nightmare Since 5ever.

It is my firm belief that trigonometry has ventured into the theoretical part of math, unlike traditional views of math- and I hate it. It's horrid. It baffles me. If you give me algebra, or stuff an equation with unknowns- yes that makes sense. It's understandable; x, y, π. Formulas. Cold, hard, logical mathematics. Give me graphs. Even differentiation and integration is easier to understand.

I'll be the first to say I'm intimidated by versatile mathematics.

Even though I manage to do the questions, I do not get any sort of happiness from them. I do, however, get some sort of morbid satisfaction from successfully solving a remarkably tedious question. The same sort of satisfaction comparable to getting a prick out of your hand, popping a particularly painful pimple, or throwing away food you don't like that has turned sour.

And when I don't solve the question, I feel frustrated, dumb, and incompetent. As though my self worth stems from how well I can solve math problems.

This is probably the one problem that comes from Asian parents and society's mindset. That if you don't know how solve complicated math you are considered subpar. That somehow you're just not as smart. If you don't get an A+ in math you're not a 'proper' Asian.

Don't even get me started on failing Calculus 1. Not 2, not 3. Just Calculus 1. I can foresee the shitstorm that's going to rise up anytime soon.

Granted, yes, Calculus 1 isn't hard. But I don't do math like I used to.

Sorry for being stupid.

SEMESTER BREAK AGAIN, FINALLY

I don't know how on earth I did it, but I survived Death Week. I might not have gotten a lot of sleep, and I have ugly stress-pimples on the side of my face now but Death Week is O.V.E.R. and I have 3 weeks of break to look forward to now!!

All I'm going to do is
1. sleep
2. eat
3. read
4. blog

with smatterings of DIY crafts, writing, cycling and other stuff I'm too tired to think of and lacking motivation to do.

I'm hoping to whatever higher power that I get relatively good grades this semester considering the amount of shit I went through, because if I don't I will be sorely disappointed at myself and I doubt I can handle next semester's subjects very well.

Also, ALISON TAN. YOU ENJOY YOURSELF IN AMERICA OKAY. OMG GIRL. YOU'RE GROWING UP SO FAST. *cries*

Thank you for being a brilliant best friend, love all the silly things we've done. :)

We'll be fated to meet each other again, don't you worry!

Looking forward to all my socializing later this week! (⊙‿⊙✿)

Similarities

Yay double post. But I figured since the previous post was short and silly, double posting is acceptable in this case.

Recently I've been lurking around blogs. Not my own (through yes I read through them occasionally and laugh at them) but other people's. And honestly speaking there in nothing in my blog that differentiates me from all those other blogs out there. Reading through a certain someone's posts I can honestly say, to another person these two blogs would look the same, read the same, and be of the same unimportance. It leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth to say that I agree.

Many things I read, I understood. The feelings and the meanings behind the veiled words. I know because I've written the same damn things before.

This breezy vapid life
Has life ever been this hard?

In a way I am jealous because I see what I could have been in a different time, place, dimension. I see the songs I like now- and I see them appearing in the journal of another, long before my time.

I'm jealous because the experiences of another is something I can't experience... The words written are just words that are meaningless and generic but to the writer it holds a thought that hides inside. Who am I to barge in on memories of life before I knew the existence of you? Who am I to walk the younger years with you in the state of virtual suspension of time? Who am I to think anything I do now can affect you, or vice versa?

My mouth lies and denies vehemently that I'm okay and I'm fine; my mind tells me to shut up and get a hold of myself; my heart skips a beat with every paragraph I read and what I fear to see catches my eye. Yet I cannot stop, not even with unstable Internet connection, not even with assignments to do.

I don't know you at all and yet I feel a connection with you, a fellow blogger. It's possible that you may know of me- of me, that's the key word- but it's unlikely that you care enough to see this. For I am wrong and paranoid, and you're... not.

But I still don't like you, for selfish reasons.

Another Semester Break

I finished my Philosophy paper just this morning, and I'm currently "on sem break" for two weeks. But of course my sem breaks are never enough. I always find something to do.

This marks the end of yet another semester. My fourth semester in ADP. I have two more semesters to go. A little more than half a year.

Time flies so quickly. Without notice it's already May, and I'm starting to panic.

Because I'm running out of time.

.

The many things I have planned to do have not been done. The many things I am working on is left alone. The many things I wish I could do...

Dreams and hopes and silent nights. My tired mind runs lethargically through confused thoughts and spastic colors.

Perhaps it's too late into the night right now. I'm running on not-enough-sleep and cheap coffee that wore off a little after noon. Maybe that's why my vision is swirling and my mind feels cottony.

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Tomorrow will be the first day in a long time that I can look forward to. Just a simple Saturday that I can spend with the people that matter. A morning of tender hearts and an afternoon of the best kind of friendship.

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My eyes are closing on themselves, I can feel my consciousness fade within me. Even typing this post is so hard...