Wednesday, October 12, 2011


Above title has nothing whatsoever to do with my post. Just needed a title.
I find it weird, October makes me want to write some many posts, five so far? That's a lot, considering my posting pattern has been one post per month up until October.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, I'm close to ending my childhood, as most people would put it. Not that I'll get any more adult in the next month; it's just another month, another day, another birthday.

I'm actually exhausted. I can actually see the shadows and lines under my eyes getting more visible by each day. I had had a lot of thinking episodes last night, I barely got any sleep. I can't even play any games without the word 'tiresome' popping up in my head. This is bad. I haven't been playing Asda2, either, because well; most of the times that I actually feel like playing, the game lags due to overcrowding of people. Is that even a statement? ...Or even a word?

Oh well. I came across a date earlier on, and just realized that I'll be missing my cousin's wedding in November. Next month. Actually, using too many actuallys, are we? none of my siblings is gonna be able to attend it.

I remember my last cousin who got married (the first of my cousins, on my father's side) and what my aunt had told me. "You should get married, you'll get a lot of presents." I pffftttt-ed for a long time about that -- why would I let myself be trapped into something called marriage just for presents. I can always buy myself one. And that so doesn't sound pathetic. Not at all.

Well, it's a Thursday. Woah. Time passes.

  • It looks like it's going to rain soon.
  • It's the day that I'm gonna be up for almost the whole day.
I was denied my schedule yesterday. Yes, I have a schedule for almost everything; especially chores. I hand-wash every two days -- Tuesdays, Thursdays and sometimes Friday nights if I get the chance. I clean and vacuum the house on Tuesdays and Fridays. And thanks to my argument with my mother the other day, it is her job to mop the floors, apart from my room's, apparently. I have to do that by myself. I already argued about that with her; why doesn't she do it, since she mops the whole house apart from my room. Oh well.

So I passed out just after I cleaned the house. Well, I wouldn't say cleaning, I just did the vacuum-ing and I didn't realize how tired and pissed off I was -- being denied my schedule -- until I had laid down my head on  a pillow.

I retreated to not my room, mostly because the bed sheet in my brothers' room (if they're home) is orange. I argued with myself about that; why didn't I just put that particular bed sheet in my room if I had wanted it so much? My reason?

  1. My brothers wouldn't want to sleep on a bed sheet filled with teddy bears.
  2. My sister would hate orange.
  3. I would be pissed off if anyone came to me for the above two reasons.
So yeah, it was nice. To be in a place I wanted to be in. Of course, my mother made a remark about that, about me sleeping the evening. I always do, by the way. Except Thursdays and Fridays, oddly. Apart from when I don't feel well or I throw an emotional fit.

Well, whatever.
I actually tried to reason with the fact that most people hate orange. I really, really, really tried to understand. But I couldn't make up with even one stupid, illogical answer. I shrugged it off, because it seems I've been too infatuated with it to be against it in any form whatsoever.

I don't like it. In fact, I hate it. I hated being denied the things I like/love/wanttoacquire. And it's not even me being childish. How do you live with being told that whatever you like, whatever your opinion is, whatever it is that you want, it is all stupid. Because that's what it seems to me. Everyone is saying -- orange is stupid. Therefore you are. That may be true, then I don't want to be smart. I'd rather stay stupid.
Because I can't kill that self of mine. I feel... serene looking at orange. I might get whacked and beaten to death about that -- but I can't change my opinions about the things I like just because other people don't like it. My life's too short; I'm not living it for someone else. I want to live my life. I want to like orange.
I used to think my mother was on my side. She was for a while. I used to think she thought the same way I did, and for a while, that gave me reassurance. That someone, out there, close to me, understands me. That didn't last very long. Sure, we have the same opinion on education. On books. That's why I find it very hard to get rid of any book that I have. Because it has value. My mother understands that. Well, at least she used to. My room is overflowing with books. So is the next room.

But I'm a little too extreme, I suppose. I can't even let go of my phone number. I can't let go of my phone. I can't let go of even, shards of glass and mirrors that I collect. I can throw away the drawings, paintings, sketches, doodles that I've done. Anything else, I can't seem to. And even though I do throw away those drawings and all, I find that I still have quite a load of them. And that's because I'm constantly drawing, painting and I keep it for some time before I go through them, get a plastic bag and throw away three-quarters of them. Sometimes, all of them. I have, nor see, any value in the things I make or do. But I see value in the things I've been given. I don't have a lot of them. So I figure, I should hold on to the last of these things.

I still have my farewell card from 2008. I still have my elementary school report cards. My high school's. The doodles my friends and I did when we were bored enough. And in hardware, I keep some of the messages, links, websites.

Duh, I don't remember what I was talking about.
Is it possible, though, to get rid of your own feelings? Maybe I can kill mine. The part that likes orange. The part that enjoy silences, books, libraries, hospitals and the smells of medicine and petrol. The part of me that's clumsy; that almost got herself killed at the same spot, under the same conditions and circumstances. I wonder, how do you kill feelings?

Why do I bother asking. Nobody's going to answer me. ... If one of the voices in my head did, I'd probably be horrified. Besides, I know how to. How silly of me. I could do it all over again.

What was I talking about again?
Who knows.

No comments: