Sup3rnality

I wish I knew how to tell you where I start and where I begin. Tell you how I sleep and the thoughts that rush back to me when I awake.

You used to know.

I wish I could let you hear the monsters in my head, the crying in my bed. I wish you would not add to the voices, add to the tears.

I wish we could be the way we used to be.

Simpler gets harder before long, and from then on it's an uphill battle. Will you be next to me, hand in hand, or are you the thorn in my side, weakening me slowly with each step I take?

Words pierce me harder than any sword can.

Time is a fickle friend. Sometimes I want more of him, sometimes I wish I would see less. But in the end, there is no running. The ticking hands count down the moments of your life passing you by.

I wish you would stop shoving it in my face.

I love you, but like Time, sometimes I wish I could choose to run away.

Only You know how it is, the way it is, how it will be.
Only You can give me the patience to see it through.
Only You can hear the voice in my heart of hearts.
Only You know the pain of the sting, the emptiness within.
Only You know my calmness is slowly wearing thin.

But I trust that You know what You know, and for now I won't know till You let me know.
And You always know what's best. And I know better than question the course of things.

Truth be told, it's easier to fill empty spaces with material trappings to immitate a semblance of contentment.

As a child, I never once dreamt of being someone else. Living a life of adventure like my favourite cartoon characters (ie, Teddy Ruxpin and  TMNT), yes, but I never wanted to be somebody else.

Perhaps you could say I was happy as I was. Content. And my family, for all that it is, have always taught me to love myself and to never want for something that wasn't mine. I am told that He gives us what we need, not what we want. And He gives us only what He knows we can handle with our own two hands, and no more.

I believe that. I still do. And yet, at this age, now, past childhood naivete and teenage angst, only now I feel the want to be not me at times. Sometimes I ungratefully wonder how it would be if He gave me a different life, if not an easier one.

I mentally slap myself when I think like that. Because...in spite of all the stumbling blocks placed before me, He has also put in my path someone who will walk with me even if I stumble, He has given me a family who always cheers me on from the sidelines and He has given me much to be grateful for in terms of income, security and many other earthly possessions.

But in the split second of stumbling over a rock in my path, the flashes of thoughts that dash across my mind, tossed in with a bundled of confused emotions before the painful impact with the hard ground, I cannot help but think: What if my path was different?

Answers come to me readily: Then you wouldn't be you, my Common Sense chides me. I would not have the people I love in my life now by my side, it adds. And who says another path would be any better than mine, if not worse?

Many a time it has crossed my mind that I do not have peace because I am not wholly grateful for all He has given me. Well, that isn't far from the truth. But the thought that follows is, if that is the case, then why do others I love suffer as well? Why can't I alone bear the burden? Because I cannot see the people I love in pain while I can only watch from the outside.

But who am I to question God's plan? I can only hope He lets people I love find peace within themselves if not in the lives they have been given or chosen. I hope that He too grants me peace, if I may so undeservingly ask.

I know I am far from perfect, or good enough, even, but I hope I am worthy enough for His attention.

I hope that I can one day look in the mirror and not see someone too tired to be recognised as myself, with grey hairs aplenty at barely 30, dark circles under my eyes with hints of worry lines etched into my skin.

I may have never wished to be someone else.

But now I wish that this someone else would be me again.

I admit, my headlines are not as interesting as this one.

Thought: To become a sub-editor, is a formal education on the English language necessary?

That was a topic of discussion, or rather, argument between Ash and me a few minutes ago before he dropped me off at work. Yes, we are both hard-headed and will keep on arguing to prove a point :-P Don't worry, it's my favourite part of being in the car with him, we always have some kinda something to talk or argue about.

Now I'm not trying to prove a point, but just using myself as a case study to explain why I think the education itself is not necessary. Instead, I think it all boils down to talent.

Big headed kan? But hear me out.

I've spoken English all my life. It's my first language, as in the first language I started speaking and the language I prefer and choose to converse in. I only started speaking Malay later around the age of seven or so. Until now, I have not been able to master it.

I read a lot. Not so much now as before I started working, but I definitely read more than the average Malaysian. And yes, I read almost only books written in English. I started reading at a young age, and spent a large amount of my time burying my head in a book while growing up.

On top of that, I love literature and pop culture. References and allusions don't go by me unnoticed.

I grew up being entertained by tv shows and movies. I was the only child and my father did not encourage me to go out, so besides books, tv was a constant companion.

Mix those key ingredients together and you have my brain, a non-stop pot of words boiling and mixing and absorbing each other. Granted, I'm not very creative, but my lifetime love affair with words and how they work has brought me right here at this desk at Setar.

Words have a certain flavour, you can tell when they don't mix or have been placed in the wrong order or combination. Sometimes I make mistakes, yes, no one is free from mistakes, okay? But the point is, I know if I'm wrong and know how to correct it. And in the face of my job, I know when words don't flow right or have a better way to be worded. I can switch them around and put them together again. And to top it off, I'll try to give it an extra punch with a catchy headline. It's not always possible due to space, but when the occasion calls for it, I can provide a noticeable punch.


Now, my argument with my significant other was somewhere along the lines of whether or not education enables a person to have my job or do my job.


For me, the answer is 'no'.

My job: Read. Edit. Layout. Write headline.

Reason? For one, I think I got this on talent. I may not be the best they've seen, but I'm one of the best they've got.

(Yeah yeah, perasannye)

Well, I'm not great at this, maybe not yet, but I can do this. I think this kind of work takes years of experience to get those creative juices on tap.

Two - At the end of the day, my degree is really just a piece of paper. Yes, I have a degree in English Language and Literature. I took it because that is what I have dreamt of studying since I was 12. I wanted to learn more, be among people who appreciated the English language and its literature (well, not quite), I wanted to soak in the ambience and discuss theories and lines out of poetry and research the history from when the words were written. Tough luck, my expectations were not entirely met, but in any case, I enjoyed IIUM. But...

In terms of learning about language and literature that I would later use in my career, that didn't happen -- much.

No, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying IIUM did not play a role in making me the sub-editor I am today. My literature classes and  sociolinguistics etc helped a lot in understanding the role of language in attracting readers. I learned quite a bit from Discourse Analysis about making words sound good but I hardly absorbed much from all that pure linguistics and have never applied anything I learned in my work (applied linguistics, however, I enjoyed).

Truthfully, at the end of the day, I just wanted that piece of paper saying I graduated so that I could get out and get a decent job to earn a living. I learned a lot in IIUM, but not really of the academic variety. More in the experience sense, I would think.

But...in spite of that, I do believe that I am here for what I already was before I started my degree. It was part of my personality, not education.

I mean, if that were the case, all my colleagues would be from an English degree background. Really, it's not just English majors who are in this line of duty. We have lawyers, engineers, scientists....all who, despite what they studied, found their calling in words.

And, if I were to ask any of my fellow undergrads from my course to join me in my sub-editor-ness, I can hardly even provide you a handful of names who would be interested.

So there you have it. That is why I feel I was not chosen for my qualifications, nor did I choose this job because of it. I was all in my innate nature.

My writing poetry by the age of 7, keeping a journal since I was 8, collecting newspaper articles to read over and over at about the same age, and correcting grammar, even my own teachers', as soon as I entered school..It was all part of my tightly-wound nature of wanting things to be in order.

Yes, I admit it, I'm anal like that. But that's just what I am.

2am, Saturday night. Or rather, Sunday morning.

Work is done, and so begins my journey home.

What usually is a short, relaxing drive with thoughts of a comfy bed and fluffy pillows turned stormy with thoughts of smiling faces I painfully envy bordering on hate.

Instead of taking a right turn into the junction to take me home, I went straight on. Straight to Uptown Kota Damansara.

The temporary gratification of new purchases serves to console me for a little while.

But back home, alone in bed, left with my thoughts for company; the fight begins again.

A thought:

When it comes to me and you, there are no ifs and maybes.
There is only yes, and the sometimes no.
But mostly yes.
No, always yes.
And yes, there is no one but you.

• - Selamat Hari Raya, everyone :)
• - And happy Merdeka, too.
• - To those who know what I mean, the phases are over. I'm on my own. Liberating, yet scary. But here's to hoping I'll hold my own.
• - Setar was not forced to shut down, thank God. Was already teetering on the edge, but we were pulled back. So yes, salary salary salary. I can pay for my car, rent, petrol... I can afford to give my parents cash, to my siblings and my grandma, too, and help my mum with some funding for her trip to Holland. Alhamdulillah, that was a very huge sigh of relief. 
• - Thinking back on a previous entry and other scathing and unapologetic commentaries, I am not sorry for what I said. I feel what I feel and I cannot be sorry for them, lest I be a hypocrite to myself. It may hurt the feelings of some in the process, but as I've said, I write these words here as it is solely a medium of expression. I'm not interested in feedback or reactions towards what I write. And though it is for all to see, I write them thinking as if these are for my eyes only. So whatever nerve I may have struck, if anybody read it for that matter, you are entitled to your opinion and me, mine. Just don't step on my toes while you're at it.
• - Again I say, no matter what you think of me, I love my job, and I love where I work. In the same vein as the above point, if you have a problem with me, well, then don't talk to me. We'll get along so much better that way, by not communicating. I'm tired of rude/insensitive/ignorant remarks on my profession or the company I work for. You're not the one working there, so just shut up la right? Let me earn my living the way I see fit, and if you don't like it, then don't follow suit; and even better? Don't talk to me and criticise me. 
• - Looking forward to an impromptu trip to Langkawi (my colleagues and I impulsively bought a voucher off Groupon for a night's stay in Langkawi, we bought two for a two-nights' stay) in early October :)
• - This Raya, it had been nice being able to give than to receive. After so long, it's nice to see the roles reversed for once.
• - As these years pass, it's getting harder to explain the absence additions to the family. It's easier in my head, but not as easy on the ears of those who expect reasons.
• - On the first day of Raya, I woke up to the voice of the other half of me, separated by distance, but at one in heart. My Asdil's words never fails to light up my day, and it surely did.
• - Merdeka was almost forgotten, as predicted. A little sad, even though I'm not particularly one to celebrate it. 
• - My feline son Freddie went missing for 10 days (4 days before we left for KB and 6 days while we were in KB). Went into a state of sadness that I couldn't help feeling irritable for the first few days in KB. For that I was sorry. But my heard leapt when he was there starving in front of the house when we came back. He was so light and oh so manja. He most probably got chased by the dominant male cats in the area and he got lost and couldn't find his way back. He's been so scared to leave the house and his fur is constantly half fluffed up, like he's ready to get into battle mode. Tonight he got chased again and he got so scared he crapped himself. Poor baby. 
• - I like taking photos of things, and of myself with friends and family, but not really the type to ask someone to snap a pic of myself. I feel so odd doing that. I will camwhore alone in my own privacy, but never ask someone to take a pic of me if I can avoid it.
• - Back to work in a few hours. Time to save the nation. 

I haven't been writing. That's stating the obvious. But my mind's been raging. So many months have passed since I've been able to put pen to paper and let flow these unsaid words; well, in a matter of speaking. There are many things I want to say, but so little energy is left for me to say them.

I was reading THIS a while ago.

But first, I'm angry, so excuse my French and expect some uncharacteristic swearing.

And second, a disclaimer:

I have no political leanings as I think it's all gone to shit. Right here, right now, I have no respect for either side; I might change my mind someday, but now I am neutral. I have no patience for elections, and cannot care less to register to vote. Anyone who would like to criticise me for this, fuck off. This is not the first time I said it, and this won't be my last for sure. And as much as I hate to discuss politics, especially on my personal blog, I have to get this out. Just like you think *your opinion* is the definition of righteousness, I think mine is equally valid. And my opinion and thought is that I don't want to vote. You want to get on my case? Fine, but do it silently. Because while you waste your time telling me how (quoted off some righteous bastard telling me to vote) I am "one of the ignorant young people who is messing up the votes", what I really think of you is: "Wow, for somebody who is advocating freedom of speech, you sure aren't allowing my freedom of speech." So fuck off. I will vote if I want to. That's my right and freedom to choose. And if I don't want to, you're a bloody hypocrite if you criticise me for not doing so.  

Okay, now back to the article at the link above. I'm pissed off, so let me say this in point form. Or I will rant till the cows come home.

• First of all, again: Fuck you people who criticise my job and/or the company I work for. I'm working an honest job for an honest pay to pay my bills and put a roof on top of my head. This is the best job I've had and I am appreciated and treated with respect. How many jobs do that to you?  
• While I am not bashing the article above per se, I am pissed off with the generalisation that we media are free to say what we want to say. It's easy to say Setar says is propaganda, but did you even stop to think that we can write what we actually feel or think? Do you think any of us would have jobs if we reported everything as it is? You blame the journalists and the editors, easy la for you to say while typing behind your keyboards, but come on la, this is Malaysia, we obviously cannot breathe too loud or sigh to heavily. Did you ever think of that? Or are you so bent to prove a point that you put aside "intelligence" to say we are all mindless drones of a hive? Seriously, don't be so stupid and ignorant. As if you don't know the real landscape behind this all. If it were that easy to say things in the paper, don't you think we would have had such opinions in the news by now?
• I am a frikkin' sub-editor. I edit the news. I write the headlines as per the story given. You want to get on my case for being involved in the story? Dude, I didn't even write it. I just edited it. Please don't be so self-absorbed okay? You think we all are lapdogs hungry for a pat on the head? Hello, we have rent to make. Bills to pay. Parents to finance. Siblings who need pocket money. Tummies to feed. Everything is expensive, and good jobs are hard to come by. Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me to get out of such a company? Do you yourself know the inner-workings of your company? Is it all clean? Are you sure at some level money is exchanging hands under the table? Don't just talk la. Your over-generalisation just makes you shallow. 
• If you wanna criticise the paper, fine. But boleh tak don't pandai-pandai put the blame on the writers and editors. How long have you been living in Malaysis to say all that? Tak tau-tau lagi ke how it all works here? Saying that we are not reporting the truth. Whatever you construe as being the truth might not be the same for others. And whatever the truth is, obviously we cannot report it blow by blow or else the entire editorial will be blown out the window as we are all fired and spontaneously combust. 
• So all in all, please fuck off all "friends" and other people who have continuously pissed me off when they criticise me about my working for the Setar. I'm tired of this childish shit. 

Points to ponder:

Did you never talk to us because your mind had always been far away? Or had you been far away because we never talked to you?

But then again,

Why is it that every wrong word that comes out of our mouths are met with swift backlashing, even if it was accidental, or not meant to hurt? It only forced us back into silence.

So,

Were we never enough to begin with that you found fault in everything we did, and forced us to tread on eggshells in your presence? Or was it that you never realised that you pushed us into silence, which caused you to get bored of us?

#3

A conversation with a friend revealed a certain comment made by her then significant other that I could be un-taken if I so wished it. The comment was made due to there being some interest in me by some people affiliated with this then significant other of a friend.

The first mention of it made me rage a little, pissed off at the thought that he would even presume that it is possible. But perhaps circumstances would have made that seem possible indeed, and because of that, I did not pursue the matter.

But here's me thinking on my own, no, I cannot be untaken, as he so simply said. I have just this one heart to give. It is not to be broken to pieces to be distributed. It cannot be shared. It cannot be exchanged for new. It's mine, and I'd only give it to somebody whom I trust and know could keep it safe. And it already is.

Maybe it's easy for some people to play around with hearts. But mine is not. It's yours, and I'd like it to stay that way,

Things can get a little crazy here in Linzy Land. Cash is always an issue thanks to finicky housemates, hefty TNB bills that only makes an appearance after two months with warning letter about paying bills on time (Hello? How about giving me the bill on time?), car problems that need repairing, much needed car petrol, and stupid Maxis bills that don't make sense.

Things are quite hectic as well, taking as many OTs (meaning that I finish at 2am) as I can, and doing freelance proofreading. These two I'm not complaining about, because the extra cash helps me stay afloat. But it does sap energy off of me.

Some days I wake up late and in a daze, feeling guilty of having missed the morning. It's hard to take that first step out of bed and out of the room and out of the house after working all night. My inactivity has further led me to put on more weight which makes me furious at myself.

Oddly though, life is good. Yeah, the crappy parts are, well, crap, but overall, it's been good. I enjoy my work, it finally feels fulfilling and I see a future in where I am. I think I can go far working here. I think I can give more to my family now, because my constant depression (when I was at my old company) has faded away and I can be a better person for them. And eventhough I don't see them as often, but the distance has made me feel all the more thankful of what I have.

The anticipation of going home to see my family makes me so excited that I feel like I need to buy gifts for everybody each time I go home. Making stops here and there to pick up a book for my sister, some Popeye's fried chicken for my brother, some home decor stuff for my mom and something my dad would like if I find any (he's a tough person to buy for :p). And when I get home, an almost audible sigh of relief escapes me. 

Living in PJ also means I get to see friends more often. Well, not that often, but with  my no longer being so far away in Cyberjaya, it's easier to plan for meetups with friends. And my colleagues are great friends, too. It's important, you know, to love the people you work with. Otherwise work will be only partly fulfilling, and you'd feel an emptiness when going to work everyday.

Asdil, of course, fills in the gaps, being all that I need. We don't see each other as often now, with my working at night and on weekends, too, and with him having classes all the way in Cheras every weekday til late. But I think that makes us stronger as a couple, and makes us grow better with each step, and hopefully prepares us better for our future.

I like the days when I have the day off, and we don't feel like going out for dinner. He'd come over and we'd cook dinner ourselves, and he'd cook up one of his mystery dishes. Then we'd have dinner while watching a comedy. It's simple, homey, and better than any fancy dinner we can ever have.

Yes, life is good. It seems like that is all I've been saying these past few entries (as far in between as they are), but that's the basic fact. Trying to make ends meet, living on your own and scraping through the month makes you go crazy, but in the end it is all worth it.

Because the bottom line is, you know that nothing in life comes for free. You have to work to get what you want, and that includes going through the hard times. I always keep in mind that Allah SWT gives to those who puts in the effort to work to reach their goals. And that keeps me going. One day, this will all pay off.

One day I will repay my parents for all they have given to me. I will make sure my little brother and sister will have a good role model and grow up to be good people. I will see that I will be there for my friends when they need someone to be their friend. One day, God willing, Asdil and I will be together for keeps and keep on being each others' shoulder to lean on.

Love,
Linzy

Sometimes I come across albums newly posted on Facebook of schoolmates who just got engaged or married. I don't bother to look into the album, it's a waste of time really. But I cannot help thinking thoughts that are mean, and yet very gratifying, even though they just cannot happen.

Like I said, I know it's mean, and so vengeful, but I look at many a schoolmate, especially the guys who were painfully mean to me, and I feel like sending a message to their fiances/wives to tell them that the guy they are associating themselves with have no respect for a person who does not fit into his viewframe. I feel like telling these girls to make sure men like these don't breed more of such people when they have offspring. There is no more room for people who cannot appreciate uniqueness.

That is, of course, assuming that these girls don't hold the same outlook as the guy they're gonna be hitched to.

I had my share of pain in highschool. I'm sure everybody did. While I don't hold my demons close and dear to me, I cannot accept that there are so many stupid people in the world. And I dread for my children to have to go through the same. I had to go through too much, and while it has made me a better person, this day and age, such pressure could almost kill.

I don't want my children growing up with people who tell you that you are unworthy of being loved because you are ugly and are not of the same standards of certain people. I don't want people telling them they are ugly and fat and unattractive. I don't want my children to be told that the only way to have somebody even give them the time of day, they would need to pay that person. I don't want my children have teachers pick on them because they are not popular or pretty like the others.

Patience, knowledge that I am better than such people, and serenity of mind kept my chin up, even though many times I felt like caving, and believing the words people said. But nowadays, the pressure is high, and not being able to live up to peer pressure takes a deep toll on many kids. I'm afraid of my children's future.

So I often feel like giving my highschool tormentors a piece of my mind. And tell their wives/fiancees also that they should keep an eye out and ensure that no such scum of the earth is brought up. Of course, I can also give them a reason of a doubt and say they're changed now, but well, just in case.

In any case, I have no frakking idea why these people are in my Facebook list of friends anyway. I should definitely annihilate them. Spring cleaning here I come :P


Love,
Linzy

My colleague, Su Lyn, introduced me to an interesting website which features a whole lot of guys reading books. The site was aptly named "Hot Guys Reading Books".

I like the intro to the site:

There are plenty of attractive men in the world, but unfortunately few of them that are avid readers. Welcome to "Hot Guys Reading Books" the blog that scours the internet for examples of luscious literary men and gathers the evidence in one place.

It's pretty much what Sarah (was it you, Sarah? But then again I don't recall ever talking about stuff like this to anyone else) and I always say: Guys who read are hot.

Me, my man reads, and he's hot when does so. So I don't really need this website to get some eye candy ;-p And I do think I've sneaked a few snapshots of him devouring a book...hehehe.

But that is not the only instance that makes a guy extra hot.

What gets my  motor revving?

I've been saying this from the very moment I started admiring the masculine species. Oh, and have always been adamant about this the first time I saw Johnny Rzeznik strumming. But men holding and/or strumming a guitar are hot. It ranks at three, but hell, can I just say 'yum'?

At number two we have the very reason why this entry is here in the first place. Men who read are just so hot. A guy with knowledge is hot, and hence, a guy who indulges in some literary candy is just as scrumptious. I like a guy who can sit down and discuss a book with me.

And...

The ultimate sexiness is a man holding a baby. Men holding babies look so darn hot. Bonus points if the baby is his, but even if the baby isn't, it is a sight that warrants a sharp intake of breath, and a hearty sigh. It is heart-melting. Knee-buckling. It's got a lot to do with the mother in every woman that just rings those biological clock alarms when they see a man in a tender moment with a child. And I am happily not immune to such a sight. I love it, and feel my heart racing at the sight of it; it's a rush of impatience and excitement of such a prospect.

So there you have it. A look into what gets me ticking like the crocodile in Peter Pan. In my life I've never divulged much of what I think about men, and the bulk of my friends can hardly recall me every gushing/talking/gossiping about guys. I only talk about it with a very very very select few.

But hell, I'm straight. And God knows what goes in my mind, and He knows it's safer kept private :p

Meanwhile, I have had the luxury of seeing Asdil in all three situations. Except that we do not have children yet. And while the number one in my list is far from becoming reality just right now, one day Insyaallah, we'll get there.

So here's to all the women who agree with these three. Cheers.

I have to admit that I do not fully understand why so many women have issues when the World Cup season makes its appearance. I really don't. And the bitchy bitching sessions about respective partners being too engrossed in the game deepens the desire to not even want to understand said issues.

Linzy

Disclaimer: The photo does not belong to me, obviously. Photo is sttributed to Ina Fassbender of Reuters, via Setar.

It's the little things that could make everyday life wonderful. Often it's not the over the top gestures that get me, but the often taken-for-granted things that are often overlooked that gets me, and it puts on a smile on my face the whole day.

The little things that I love in my everyday life:

• Waking up to a wonderful sight of dawn.
• The janitors around my apartment (the one at my old block C1 especially) who are always ready with a "good morning, miss".
• Upon reaching my office building, stopping by at the side of the road to buy my morning dose of nasi lemak and/or meehun (or I eat it for tea time or lunch if I'm not going out). The man who sells the nasi lemak is always smiling and very friendly.
• My team's spam mails that we send each other, but really, it's the accompanying commentary that is really fun, not the original content of the email itself.
• My one-on-one lunch sessions
• The small gestures that he presents me with that may seem small and insignificant to some, but means the world to me
• Cooking dinner (when I do cook)
• Chatting with my housemates, or colleagues
• My gtalking with my mom/Sarah/Raqib and occasionally others
• Reading my daily comic, LICD
• Our saying goodnight to each other before I go to bed.

There is more than this, and perhaps I've even typed all this out before. But these things are so beautiful to me that it needs constant repeating. It's really the simple things that makes life all the better. And I thank God for letting them happen every day. And I thank God that I still have everyday to have these things.

Love,
Linzy

oh hush
serpent tongue
preaching choir
horse's mouth
swim not
shallow pond
holed sieve
holds no water
mind you
flipped coin
different sides
reverse lies.

(c) Hazlin Aminudin, 2010

Well, I think this speaks for itself. 

Love,
Linzy

Disclaimer: Picture entitled "Serpent's Tongue" is by elainedori from DevintArt.

I was a bright child, my mom used to tell me. Ever inquisitive, loved IQ-related puzzles and toys and solved them fast, a reader, and observant. But there were some things I took a while to catch up on. I was late in being able to tell time. I had trouble remembering left from right. Mathematics was a pain, cos it takes me forever to understand a concept (takes months), and often, I would come up with a different way of calculating which gave me correct answers, but round-about, complicated and not accepted in exams. This and many other things.

These were just passed off as just some things that I was weak at; because in different areas I learned superbly fast and was top of the class, or understood better than others. After all, we all have strengths and weaknesses, so no one can possibly be mad at me or anyone else to be not good at everything.

There were other oddities about me that people used to point out, but I never quite took them to be anything else but just a quirk of character. I suffer from Spoonerism. I hold a pen at an odd angle and grip (my cousin once sat me down and tried to get me to hold the pen the way that everyone else does and is more "comfortable". I tried, couldn't, and got so frustrated I cried cos I didn't see what was so wrong with the way I write--It was comfortable to me). It took quite some time for me to understand how to tie my shoes. I understood and learned how to spell quite late (thankfully later I mastered it, and am a school spelling bee champion). I tend to daydream alot and often.

Along with that, I found that there are many things about myself that happened too often. Like problems with depth perception, reading a passage but skip a line or reread the same line, see movements at the corner of my eye and lots of other things. But I never mentioned any of this as I always thought it was not unusual. I was sure that any other person could have this problem.

One time, though, Ash and I were playing Inspector Parker on his laptop. I've never played that game so he was teaching me how, and then let me play a few rounds on my own. He noticed that I could not assess the puzzle before me just by looking at it. I would have to sort of "read out loud" that this is left, and this is right, or this is 2 boxes away and this is 3 boxes down and what not. So he decided to mess with me and ruin my concentration. When I was going on about this being left and that being right, he would "correct" me and told left is right and right is left. I blindly followed, not noticing that it was wrong. And if he pointed to the left and said right, I would follow too. It took me awhile to notice the discrepancy and readjust my thoughts to think that right is right and left is left. We were laughing so hard, and he playfully and lovingly patted me on the head and said I was "cacat" :p

Part of me that night realized that--while all this while I had a problem with direction, but always thought of it as a slip of the tongue--what I had was a condition. Dyslexia came into mind, and it sorta made sense, because when I thought back to my childhood, there were symptoms. It's just that I never said anything about it therefore or complained about it therefore it was not apparent.

I went online and looked for symptoms of dyslexia, and there it was. As it turns out, all those things I used to have all pointed to me being dyslexic. But my parents or anyone never noticed because: a) they're not apparent, b) they could easily be thought as a lack of judgment/slip of tongue/miscommunication/etc, c) I never complained about any of this symptoms, and d) nothing pointed out to the common dyslexic symptoms.

According to symptoms listed on this site, these are the ones I have, which are signs of dyslexia:

• Appears bright, highly intelligent, and articulate but unable to read, write, or spell at grade level.
• High in IQ, yet may not test well academically; tests well orally, but not written.
• Feels dumb; has poor self-esteem; hides or covers up weaknesses with ingenious compensatory strategies; easily frustrated and emotional about school reading or testing.
• Seems to "Zone out" or daydream often; gets lost easily or loses track of time.
• Learns best through hands-on experience, demonstrations, experimentation, observation, and visual aids.

• Complains of dizziness, headaches or stomach aches while reading.
• Confused by letters, numbers, words, sequences, or verbal explanations. 
• Reading or writing shows repetitions, additions, transpositions, omissions, substitutions, and reversals in letters, numbers and/or words.
• Complains of feeling or seeing non-existent movement while reading, writing, or copying.
• Seems to have difficulty with vision, yet eye exams don't reveal a problem.
• Extremely keen sighted and observant, or lacks depth perception and peripheral vision.
• Reads and rereads with little comprehension.

• Has extended hearing; hears things not said or apparent to others; easily distracted by sounds.

• Trouble with writing or copying; pencil grip is unusual; handwriting varies or is illegible.
• Clumsy, uncoordinated, poor at ball or team sports; difficulties with fine and/or gross motor skills and tasks; prone to motion-sickness.
• Can be ambidextrous, and often confuses left/right, over/under.

• Has difficulty telling time, managing time, learning sequenced information or tasks, or being on time.
• Computing math shows dependence on finger counting and other tricks; knows answers, but can't do it on paper.
• Can do arithmetic, but fails word problems; cannot grasp algebra or higher math.

• Excellent long-term memory for experiences, locations, and faces.

• Extremely disorderly or compulsively orderly.
• Had unusually early or late developmental stages (talking, crawling, walking, tying shoes).
• Strong sense of justice; emotionally sensitive; strives for perfection.
• Mistakes and symptoms increase dramatically with confusion, time pressure, emotional stress, or poor health.

So I found out I was dyslexic. I'm not at all bothered by it. It's just a condition, not who I am. I am just surprised that it all went unnoticed for years. It explains alot of things. Really. There are all these things about me that I have and am sometimes annoyed by, but cannot help. Or mistakes I often make and can never seem to correct, or takes a while to correct or learn. Turns out it all points to one thing.

I'm glad I didn't know it earlier in my life. Otherwise I would have used it as an excuse for everything. Or if people knew about it, put a name to my quirkiness; people would treat me differently, and second-guess me, or think I have a sort of dysfunction and am not normal.

As far as I know, I'm normal, but with some malfunction that makes my brain work a little different than others'. But I eventually get there. People might think it's weird, but then again, people already think I'm weird cos of my being a little off-center. So let's not add to that thought.

Dyslexic or no, I am like any other person. I have my strengths and weaknesses. And even if dyslexia didn't hinder my other abilities, I suppose I would always be a language person, who loves books and words and thinking and analyzing and abstract ideas. And that had carried me far, cos I find that I excel in these areas, sometimes more than others. I see what others don't see and understand things deeper and faster than most. And I did well in my studies and now on my chosen career path. So maybe, I would have to thank my dyslexia for that.

So I guess what I'm saying is that, if you are dyslexic, or know somebody dyslexic, don't put them down, or treat them different or talk down to them. They are like everybody else; only that their disabilities have a specific name. If everybody was good at everything, life wouldn't be half as fun, and everybody would all be just the same. So appreciate diversity, it's why I'm not you and you are not me.

I love how one's imperfection can make them so perfect.

Love,
Linzy

Disclaimer: Pictures from Learn Something Every day and Dyslexia Testing Australia.

...Love:

Sometimes...

...I get scared of loving. The memory of heartbreak is like the shadow that follows behind you even in the bright sun...especially in the bright sun. The all too familiar lingering of doubt reminding that pain is simply the flipside of the same coin. But he looks at me, smiles, holds me and kisses me, and that shadow of a doubt melts in the afterglow.

...when he's not looking, or I think that he doesn't notice, I commit to memory the curve of his back, the nook of his neck, the shape of his shoulders, the texture of his hair, the feel of his hands, the hard gentleness of his arms, and a million other subtleties one might take for granted; so I may find him in the dark, and recognize him, just in case sight is taken from me.

...I spin poetry in my head with every thought of him.

...when he holds out his hand to take mine, all the world just falls away; and I am just his. And contentedly so.

...I think love is perfect in its imperfection.

Love,
Linzy