I’m sitting in my room writing this stupid thing while my sister’s out there dating her ‘dream date’ and making friends. Nice.
And let me tell you something… I’ve never heard any boys telling me he likes/loves me in my life so far. Yea well, I only heard it from some friends once or twice. AND, I’ve never really fallen DEEPLY in love with anyone.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all my fault, letting great chances slip. I’m like, a hermit staying at home all the time. I’m too lazy to go out and have fun. Sometimes I think having fun is a stupid thing and yet I get really jealous when my sister comes home and tells me she met a cute guy. Other than boys, I let EVERYTHING slip away just like that. I’ve always wanted to stretch my ears but my sister did it before me, so now if I’m stretching my ears, it would be so lame cuz my sister has it already. If I stretched my ears earlier, I would’ve gotten both ears stretched to 14mm already. Damn it I lost a chance. I don’t work hard and when exam comes, I’m studying crazily. And at last I’ll always end up with a terrible result. These are the times when I start fussing. If I worked harder, things would’ve gotten better. If I took the chance to study harder, I would’ve… But when I start thinking about these “if”, I let another chance slip. I’m always wasting time regretting things. I never do anything to change myself.
Sometimes I wonder if I have trust issues. When my friends told me that someone likes me, I would probably ignore them, like they’re telling some kind of jokes. I don’t even believe them. But later I’d regret it cuz that person seemed very nice. And when I regret, things get worse: My friend and that guy are together; that guy turns out to be gay; you name it…
Oh yea, my sister’s just texted me and said that a boy bought her a drink. If I went out with her, I would’ve earned a free drink too…
So yea, this is me and I think I’m pathetic.
Why can’t I just be pretty and lovely and fresh and happy and humourous and easy to get along with and… Fuck it I hate myself sometimes.
I believe in karma. Believing in it makes me feel better even if it’s not true. It’s important to me to know who I am. I know what I believe in, I know what’s important to me in life and I can’t be easily swayed by others. You can’t go wrong if you’re the best person you can possibly be. Be decent and good and life will be too, hopefully, and if it’s not, you work through it. If you’re doing something for selfish reasons, if you’re taking advantage of anything or anyone or being disloyal in any way, you can prepare yourself for the negative effects in your life. It will always come back to get you. I do have faith, I do believe in something. I don’t feel alone. Those scary times when the plane drops, or those good times when a whole series of things come together so perfectly for something wonderful to happen, you either ask for help or you say thank you. To whom do we have this other conversation with? I pray every night. I believe that something is overseeing it all.
I’m very open-minded and I don’t think I follow any one particular religion. What I believe in is being a good person and doing good to others.
I’ve heard people say that when they dream about a loved one that has died, they feel that it’s real, that the person is really there, sending them a message, giving them a hug. That somehow dreams are a blurred line between here and there, like a meeting room in a prison. You’re both in the same room, yet on different sides and really, in different worlds. I used to think that people who talked like that were quacks, or fundamentalist religious freaks. But now I know that that is just one of the many things I was wrong about. It’s got nothing to do with religion, it’s got nothing to do with mental stability, but it has everything to do with the human mind’s natural instinct, which is to hope beyond all hope, unless you’re a cynical bastard. It’s got to do with love, with losing somebody you love, a part of you being torn away that you’d do almost anything or believe anything to have returned to you. It’s hope that someday you’ll see them again, that you can still feel them near you. Hope like that, as I thought before, doesn’t make you a weak person. It’s hopeless that makes you weak. Hope makes you stronger, because it brings with it a sense of reason. Not a reason for how or why they were taken from you, but a reason for you to live. Because it’s a maybe. A ‘maybe someday things won’t always be this shit.’ And that ‘maybe’ immediately makes the shittiness better.
I thought that we were supposed to become more cynical the older we got. Everywhere I was, was shit, and somewhere else, in the backwards direction, was better. It’s only now when the matter-of-factness of life has hit me - very dead, death - that I’m beginning to look outwards. Scientific people think they’re looking outwards but they’re not. They think that emotional people only look inwards but they don’t. I think the best scientists are the ones that look both ways.
Despite all that I’ve said, I know that grandma isn’t in my dreams. There is no secret message or secret hug. I don’t feel her with me here. They are merely obscure dreams with no meaning or words of advice. Mirrored segments of my day broken up as though a jigsaw, and thrown in the air to hang in my head without order, meaning or sense.