Sup3rnality

"Is there a love
Lost and found
Make it easy
Make it easy
It's not as heavy as it seems
Wrapped in metal
Wrapped in ivy
Paint it in mint ice-cream"
- Tori Amos

That's what we call ourselves at the top of our voices, eventhough in voices low, we don't even have a name. It's easier to pretend when all there is is the weight of nothing of something that once were. Maybe we dropped it on the way here.

Or maybe, we're sitting down a while to wait for the strength again to pick it up and carry it forth again. But it's not as heavy as it seems. I don't remember it being heavy.

Although, I admit, we've picked up extra baggage along the way. Some pieces here and there that contribute to this burden we have. Not that I mind all that much; this thing between us feels more like experience than regret.

People are looking to me and this thing I'm carrying and they want to know. And I? Well, I can't even figure out the combination lock to open this. I don't even know what's in this to begin with. But there they are around me, in their hands they too carry something. They are carrying an old tattered basket, on the handle of it a ribbon so white it must be new, and a borrowed copy of Buffy Season 4 Disc 3 inside it. They offer it up as they walk with me and then eventually pass me by. I don't know whether I want it yet.

And it's funny that they turn to me knowing, when really I don't. I don't know. Make this easy. Make this easy. I thought I felt that something when there was that moment in a moment. Dark, sweet, spark. I swore there was. Make it easy.

This is all it is. Whatever we have hanging in the balance. I can't see beyond, and I don't want to look too far back. I want to see what it is here and now. That is, if there is anything to see.
If not, well, then lets just paint it mint ice-cream.

Yours, Lin~

I don't usually hate. I'd dislike, yes, but it is very rare that I hate. Of course, this is not counting vile people whom you read of in the papers. Those people do not even warrant the moment of contemplation of where they stand. They're a waste of space, a waste of even the slightest of a thought.

But I'm not talking about these people. I need not waste my time talking about such non-persons. I'm here to talk about other sorts of people.

Like I said, I don't usually hate. Hate to me is a very strong emotion that is brought about in me by anger that I feel towards someone. And this anger itself is brought out in me when a person I come into contact with shows no sense of respect towards who you are and therefore assumes superiority and treats you as if you were insignificant little people. I HATE these people. There is nothing left to feel and say but hate.

It is not in my nature to hate. Well, I don't let myself hate, anyway. I'm peaceable enough if you give me my due respect and treat me like a person. I'm not saying we have to be the best of buddies or you have to grovel at my feet, but I'm saying is that, I'm a person with my own rights and should be treated so. But if you do otherwise, then I'll do the same and not feel any need to think of you as a person.

In the past month, I've come to know another person that I am starting to feel intense hatred for. I'm not going to mention his name. so hopefully the fact that I said I've come to know him within this past month and the fact he's a 'he', will give you enough clues.

My anger towards him could not even put into words. The thought of the things he says to you and how he regards you sets me seething with anger. He talks to you calmly with a smile on his face like a friendly person, but the sugarcoated words hide sarcastic, poisonous words that he assumes you would not get or understand because of your stupidity. He would give you so-called fatherly advice that belies his insinuating rancourous remarks. In other words, he's trying to tell you all that you all are a bunch of good-for-nothing louts who will mature to be a waste of time and money, useless people. And if you have enough dumb luck, you'll live a good enough life to support your useless existence. And he says all this every time we see him.

I'm not sure if others see this and just choose to stay mum about it all. Because I see them laugh at his jokes that not at all funny as it seems on the surface. Maybe they do, maybe they don't, I can't really say. But if they do, I hope they don't have this hatred living in them like the one I have. It's a disease I can't be rid off, and it only serves to make me hate him more.

He has authority over us. I get that. I don't altogether hate authority, as long as that authority is not abused. I recognize some authority and certain superiority because I know that I do not know everything and must seek answers from those of the more experienced. But when those of authority rub the fact that you are lesser than them in your face, I have not an ounce of respect for them left. And this is how I feel about him.

I can sit here writing this and sound extremely calm. But if I were to really express how I feel, I reckon they'd bleep every other word coming out of my mouth. I don't mean to be so angry, really. It's not so in my nature to be all hateful. But sometimes I just get pushed to my limit.

Lin~

It's been a year, love. It's been a long, long year. Such a gaping wide space of time in which you were not in. Your absence have left me so empty; and it's been so hard for me to fill that void.

At times I feel so ashamed, letting myself be in the mess I'm in. Sometimes I so alone, even in a crowd full of people. At times I hate the eyes on me, hate the discomfort. And everyday, at the end of the day, like those days when you were there, I seek that refuge that cancels out every trace of displacement I feel in myself. But you're no longer there. I can no longer find myself in the arms of the comfort that you offered up to me without discrimination, without judgment. And it pains me.

My words have been swallowed up since you were gone. I find myself unable to express myself with the words that are there in my head. Everything seems irrelevant. Feelings became irrelevant. What use were there if all I could use them for sadness and then not have any comfort afterwards? I was mute for so long. I am still mute.

I miss you so much. I have so much emptiness in me. I am so weak. I never thought things could be this way. Always thought that many years from then you would still be by my side, ever constant, stalwart. My comfort.

I swear I could not find the words. These words hold no weight to ever say how life has been without you. How much I miss you. How much I love you. There are no words, and no words can possibly be created.

I love you. I think of you all the time. I hear you, I dream of you and nothing can ever ease the pain of losing you. No amount of tears can ever bring you back. And it makes me ache so so much.

I am sorry for not being there. I am sorry that you were alone when you left. I am sorry I could not protect you. I am so sorry I could not take away your pain. I am sorry for your stolen years.
I'm sorry for the million of things I could have done differently. I'm sorry that you're so cold now. I'm sorry that these words will never do anything, and they'll just remain words.
I miss you. And I'll always love you. I hope you're happy where you are.

Love you always, Lin~

Thoughts. Thoughts are all I ever have. Thoughts are what that rule my life. Day in, day out. They never leave me. Even in my dreams, I have thoughts in my own dream. I think in my dream. They occupy the every stretch of time in a moment of my existence. Thoughts are what I'm made of.

I think of everything. The past. The present. The future. The never-will-bes. The maybes. The could-have-beens. The possibility of everything. Alternities and reality. They bleed together; rivers that would have never met if not for the sea. And my mind is the sea where everything converges and become a raging abyss that I would never fully fathom its depths.

It's all here in my head. A living entity that works even without my express permission. They fly by. They pop out at odd hours. They come at me full force. They drive me on. They drive me insane. They whisper softly. They carress tenderly. They spark full of inspiration. I cannot possibly pick one thought from the din.

I am what I think. And in turn, my thoughts are me. I exist because of them and they exist for me. My thinking helps siphon my every concentrated thoughts into digestable spoonfuls, keeping me sane. And yet, they make me insane at times.

They are bittersweet. I hate them. I love them. They make me weep. They make me weak. They remind me of good times. Prolonged dwellings break me. I need them. I need to break free. I need to run. I need them with me. I laugh. I cry. I smile. It makes my heart ache. And they are a thousand and one things more if I had the time to think.

To think.

As if I need more time. They are constantly in my head. All the time. With no regards at the moments passing by.

All I'll ever be will be my thoughts. What they think I should do. what they rationalize. The solutions they cook up. The words I say. The things I do. Everything. They'll never change. My thoughts are me, and I am them.

Love, Lin~

(Written on the 24th of June 2007)

As per usual, I ould try to justify my long absence. Although, there's not much of an explanation; so if you were gearing yourself for a paragraphs-long intro to why I have been missing from these pages, I'm sorry to have disappointed you.

I'm having my 3 week holiday. Or to be precise, my end-of-semester holiday. It's only 3 weeks long because I took the short semester, thus meaning that I have sacrificed almost 4 months of idleness in exchange for 2 months of academic goodness. I know, I know; I'm a dweeb, so sue me. So again, yeah, I'm having my holidays, which inadvertently means that I would be Net-less for the next said few. I'm complaining, but I'm not complaining.

It's always good to cut myself off abit from my regular consumption of Net exposure, for fear that it wolud mlet mreo nad mroe of my pierocus gery mtaetr........................ Oh wait, it hasn't happened yet. But it could. So that's why, as much as I miss it and want it, it's good to be not a slave to it. I can actually feel myself getting stupider because of my reliance on it. No offence to those who live off the Net, being an addict myself; but with me, I am actually beginning to neglect the things that I love so much: Books.

Hmmm....and looks like despite what I just said about talking about my absence in paragraphs; I've done it anyways. Well, anyway....

Things are of the good and of the not so much. And me, I'm five by five except if you count the fact that I have a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach thinking that I might have just failed my Tilawah 2 exam. I have a feeling I have failed, seeing how I totally messed up the tajwid bit; but at the same time, I also have a slight feeling of confidence that I might just pass it just enough. Oh well, won't know til next month... So I prescribe to myself to a good rest and the numbing of my mind to avoid unwanted contemplation that would take the fun out of holiday.

The holidays have so far consisted of me giving the house a little spring-cleaning (even if it is summer now, or constantly summer), lazily watching TV (I have not watched any TV long enough to be called 'watching' for 2 months), reading (like I said, being of the Net has left me all un-reader-y, so now I'm catching up), and playing the PS2 (Rule of Rose rules, baby). Not much, I know, but hey, geek here. Not much with the out-and-aboutness. Plain ole books and games keep me occupied enough without me complaning a single bit. Oh, but I have been lepaking here and there with my mom, shopping and stuff. And my dad had to leave for Japan for a few, so that contributes even more to my stay-at-home-liness. Couldn't sleep though with him not around. I stay up late at night armed with a very very heavy heavyduty flashlight, a hand-held alarm, my handphone, a Swiss Army blade and an aerosol can patrolling the house. I'm concerned about our safety, that's why.

As much as I love living in Kulim, Kedah; the place is not at all a safe place. Here I thought living in the city, with its rich people and full of people living in the fastlane would be the most dangerous place to live of all. I was wrong though. Turns out this little place called Kulim is scarier. With break-ins happening every night, and that's 4-6 cases everynight, mind you; everyone on the block is wondering just when they'll be next. There's a serial rapist whom they have not caught and is still on the loose. It's scary cos the perpetrator has been reported to not want anything else, not money or anything of materail value, he breaks in with the sole purpose to rape. With 3 females in my home (that's me, my mom and my 10 year old sister), one gets pretty scared. I'd do anything I could to protect my family, so I'd rather not sleep and stay vigilant.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Oops, excuse me. My Potter-y is showing.

Be that as it may, Kulim is still a nice place to live. Given, not for too long, but nice all the same. It's a nice old small town in which you can live complacently in (provided that you shut your eyes and not listen to the stories of break ins and such). But me, I need a little drive. Yeah, living in KL can drive you insane even if you are not in the thick of it. Of course behind the mask of glamour, there's always vulnerability and ugliness. And we get it by the truckful. We take the beauty with it's ugly stepsister, it's a whole package and can't be sold separately. And that gives me drive to push a little harder, to go a little further, to do things a little different from the rest.

Yeah, so I've been scorned throughout my life for this same drive but I am still standing upright and that counts for something. Living quietly in Kulim would not challenge me enough and would only lull me into a false feeling of security. And for me, that is not the way to live.

Okay, so maybe the two things I just said kinda contradicts each other. But all I'm saying is that while I like the quiet life in Kulim because honestly, I'm a quiet person who shies away from the hustle and bustle and from the loud and the glaring. But at the same time, it's the loud and the glaring that gives me a purpose for my existence. So that as much as I want to be far from it, I also need it. Does that make any kind of sense? Well, it's not like most of the things I say does anyway. Most people already think I'm insane.

Anyway, I'll get through these nights. These long nights just awaiting the bright morning. Heh, and there's always the Nintendo DS to keep me company. Nite!

WWJossD?

~Lin

I guess my last entry, with its abruptness and disconcerting content, warrants somewhat of an explanation. Looking back on it, should I had been an outsider looking in, I must have appeared to be a despaired person who as ready to flush all I have known down the drain... But then again, at the time I wrote that, that wasn't so far from the truth.

I said that I wanted to take all the books of and about literature that I have a put a gun to it. And I would have, well, figuratively, that is; if not for the fact that my life is founded on the same system that I see literature.

I grew up loving to read. It wasn't just about immersing myself in the story, it was the words that were used to describe every detail and every emotion. It was about walking around in the shoes of another person and feeling everything he or she feels. It was about learning things I might not be able to experience for myself. It was about seeing places I would otherwise not see. Reading was my life and soul.

Reading of course, does not just involve you reading what is there in black and white. There is always more to it, just lying there in the blank spaces between each line. There is always more to read than just those words.

Having a piece of goor writing in your hands, be it a work in prose or done in a poem or through the art of drama; there is always the oppurtunity to gain more from it. There is always more than one angle to look at it.

For me, these angles can either be through the exploration of my psyche, or an analysis through the eyes of religion, or its relevance to history or time and place, or the writer's background, and many many more. Looking at them through these various angles always help shed more light on its meaning, thus creating more possibilities of interpretation.

It awes me how mere words can have an infinite number of meanings, depending on how you want to see it.

But then, enter this semester, where I am taking the subject 'Linguistic Approach to Literature'.
Now honest to God, I am not interested in Linguistics. It's funny cos I love the English language. How it is possible to bend the language to my will if I know the rules...and I do (well, a fair more than most), so that makes it all the more wonderful.

But learning Linguistics, from Phonetics to Syntax to semantics.... For me, as long as I know what I want to say, and how I want to say it; that's enough for me. I'm not interested in breaking down the sentences and drawing up it's Syntactic structure or transcribing the words according to the IPA symbols. All these things spoil the language for me. Having to look at language in such a technical manner takes away alot of its beauty for me, making it look as though some piece of complicated machinery.

Don't get me wrong, the beauty is of course, in its complexity; but I just can't seem to appreciate the make up.

Having to look at literature Linguistically have changed literature for me. Once I was content with searching for meanings through more abstract means. But now, I am forced to take apart works in a more technical manner and analyze them Linguistically; and it is driving up the wall.

And why is that? Why, now every time I find myself some piece of writing, I try to find Linguistic patterns in them and study its stylistics. And when I can't, I unconciously deem them uncreative; even if they actually are creative and I have oncee thought so.

It has ruined some pieces of lit for me. Some part of my mind feels as though it needs to perform linguistic analysis on everything. eventhough I know not all works are made that way. And yet, I do it anyway, and have now marred its impression in my mind.

Well, don't misunderstand me, I actually like the subject and it is mighty interesting. But I don't appreciate my ideas on literature being altered that way. Now all I can think about is whether anything I read at all has those Linguistic qualities. Sheesh.

Love, Lin~

That's it.

I'm taking a gun to all the books of literature I know as well as all the poems I've ever read and written and I'm shooting them all to Hell.