The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

An Excess of Phlegm


So it's been three days since the eventful Christmas day in which I curled up next to my cat all day, bed-ridden and plagued with dreams about Barbie dolls ruling the world and the sick is still (miraculously) here! The funny thing about sick is that it never comes when you want it to (hint, hint: during any one of the PE classes I had to endure last year) and also, you'd think that people would care but they really don't (given that my Dad forced me into child labor by hanging up my shelf and cork board)!

In other news, I've been trying to get used to my Asus Transformer, which, I know, thank you, thank you all - after being told off by my Dad saying that I can't, and I quote, 'cry every time I can't get what I want', this is a thing to be celebrated. Almost as big of a celebration as my PMR results, although on both accounts, I've learned something dearly important and, well, something that I might have to remember in the future, because if I've already learned this in the past, I sure as hell didn't remember: I really don't care.

Aside from the fact that I can't go to Megavideo on the thing (which isn't that big of a loss - I have discovered the almighty powers and prowess of videobb!) and the browser sometimes crashes, sometimes refreshes itself (not a huge deal at all considering the lump of metal I'm used to using, also known as my handy dandy desktop computer), it's really very spiffy. All those anti-Apple people got one thing right, this thing is better than an iPad and it can do everything a laptop can as well (other than, you know, go on Megavideo and maintain a stable browser session) so I am happy. But I forgot.

"The price of getting what you want is getting what you once wanted."
- Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.

Because I forgot that, in my crazed 'I'm going to get everything I want and more, watch me' state, this is the way the world turns and spins and catches you up in its trap. Like with the PMR results. Was I happy after it? No, I was more scared. Because existing in a state before the results, because the anticipation and the waiting, were all code for 'don't worry, Form 4 is way over the horizon'. I would rather stay behind, stay hidden in the shadows of Results Day, than stand on its other side, with the full knowledge that three years of my life has passed to amount to a) not much, and b) a whole lot of other crap, coming soon.

And getting to see Wicked. That was so sad. It was just a big ball of sad wrapped carelessly with really depressed wrapping paper and tied off with a melancholic bow. And sick, and stuck in bed, and mere days after getting the one thing I've been praying really hard all year for, I get this other present, this stupid Asus Transformer, and I realized, I am not happy.

I'm not happy even though I've got everything a person my age could possibly want. I am not happy regardless of the people I surround myself with, or the stuff, the sheer, embarrassing amount of stuff I have and I just took a moment and stared around in wonder at my room and I have two lamps, two lamps I don't even use, and I have something that can just basically be a larger version of my iPod, and an MP4 player I haven't used in months to boot, collecting dust at the bottom of some box, and all I can manage to do to make myself feel better about the situation is to write a poorly constructed, even more poorly punctuated sentence about it.

And I'm still not happy.

Humans. We really don't learn from our mistakes, do we? Because what am I if not a prime example of that? I spent an entire year thinking I was the blameless party, that I deserved pity and it's all so stupid, stupid, stupid, because I know that even if I got this, however impossible a miracle it may be, even if I got this, I'm still not going to be happy.

And I know why. And I haven't said it, kept it in for a long time because I felt it wasn't my place, no, I know it's not my place, and you asked for my say in the matter and I had to treat you like I would treat anyone else, because otherwise, what kind of hypocrite would that make me? That's what I feel like, a hypocrite. Because it doesn't matter if Darwin, or Dan, or Helena or Vivian or Michelle or anyone else feel however the hell they feel, or think, or decide, or choose, it matters that you feel, think, decided, chose, because you said you're keeping this from everyone because you're afraid, like we all are.

But what do you think I am? Do you think I'm not afraid? Do you think I'm happy? Do you think I know how to be happy and don't you think you're being selfish? I chose. That's the problem, I chose a long time ago and I choose to live through it and let it pass and you're pursuing something I actively chose not to pursue and what person does that make either of us and if anyone, if anyone ever.

Big, fat hypocrite. That's my name, don't wear it out. It's different because we're protecting the same people. And yet it's not really that different because I'm just protecting myself. Is anyone worth all that trouble? Is anyone, really?

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