Ain't no other way

There's just no other way of doing it. When I do things, i do it passionately otherwise there is be no point of doing it at all. Being a passionate person is not always good. It's bordering to nuisance.

You get upset easily if things are less than what you expected. You snap easily too. You tend to overreact and overly hopeful. You are over analytical. You are either too sane or crazy. You laugh hard and you cry even harder. You are short of being diagnosed with bipolar disorder. But i guess these are not the general criteria of a passionate person. These are descriptions about me. I can't change me.

When I love, I love hard.

I can't change that even if I wanted to.

Perhaps, I loved the wrong way.

Maybe I shouldn't have loved at all.

Of Things That Could, Should and Would Have Been

It was not so much about the hints and clues which led me into believing that it would eventually fail. It was the gut feeling I had, that made me convicted it for being something which could never materialize into what I had always dreamed of. Nothing could have ever blossomed out of such infertile soil of hopes and wishes that were never meant to come true from the onset.

Perhaps, it would have been more bearable to have some sort of solid assurance, sufficient enough to enable me to believe, that this is just a phase, when the sun will shine after the storm, and the rainbow will reveal itself thereafter, and when all fogs of worries and uncertainties will finally lay down to rest, leaving sheer bliss as the aftermath. Such wishful thinking merely entices the most agonizing of comfort.

Perhaps it could have been different if I did not have such courage to rebel against my instinct. Damnation upon me for trying to lie my way through denial. I knew how it was going to end but deep within me nests the believe that perhaps I could have changed it for once. I was foolish but I was merely being true to myself, the only person of which I am fully accountable and answerable to. I did not regret it even if it landed me in dirt of shame and hurt.

It should have been less painful, less hurtful. I had forewarned myself of the risks and I was convinced that I would go through this without even the slightest of pain, if not the minimum . Yet of the things that should have been, they remain should. They never were nor are.

All this should have led me into shying away from even thinking of attempting yet another adventure. But my instinct insists upon me to embrace all possibility and uncertainty because I have the strength to endure and learn. I can afford to feel hurt because I know that I will always move on. Don't all people do? I can't run away from wanting to feel it, to inhale and exhale it and to enjoy it even if it was meant to be momentary.

It could, should and would never be love because I wanted it. It could, should and would never be love because I did not want it badly enough. It was me all along who restrained the possibilities of such.

In the end...

I have to concede that this feels good. Really good. It's good to taste the budding success of my hard work. Those years of studying are really paying off. I'm finally here and I still have a long way to go towards the peak of my career. But I'm taking my time. I'm enjoying the ride...the journey just gets better and better.

My budding success, aside from family's and friends' support, is attributed mainly to the various situations which whipped me up into what I am when I'm dealing with stuffs. The need to prove myself for the satisfaction of me, acknowledgment of some and revenge on others, drove me hungry and relentless in the pursuit of my goal. Hold on, revenge on others?

Right. I was happy when those girls who bullied me back then during primary school actually had to turn to me for study advice during high school. Most of them are married now, to which I do feel slightly envious but not to the point of being affected. I remember each of them, what they said and how they made me feel back then. I never went as far as vowing an evil vengeance against them, I just can't bring myself to do it. But I did promise myself that one day, they will not treat me with the same courtesy as they did at that time. And now, even as I bumped into them, and even when we said nothing, I felt....satisfied because I am what I am today because of the way they made me feel last time. It would seem that I'm giving them the credit but if this is communicated to them, I doubt that being the receiver of such credit would make them feel glad.

And then there's my Form 2 History teacher who used to scold me and openly showing her preference on certain students (for very obvious reasons), never quite acknowledged me as her student (I never stood out in class and kept to myself most of the time). Later when I was given a consolation by the school for finally not wasting their time on me through my satisfactory (as they deem it to be so) SPM results (I don't really see it as an award or anything), the very same teacher actually bragged to the other teachers, about how I used to be in her class and she allegedly had something to do with my success. Bullshit.

Let's not forget the ones from my alma mater. They befriended me...welcomed me into their group and gave me hope of a possibly lasting friendship. I enjoyed a brief moment of warmth and what I would like to think until now, as an honest and sincere friendship. But in the end, perhaps due to my trying too hard to please them, I end up being used and hurt. My intention of saving a good friend from a disastrous relationship she was having with her boyfriend (who shamelessly tried to hit on me whilst his relationship with my good friend was still subsisting) at that time, had backfired me. I end up being shunned. And I did not have the strength to confront her. I endured it all until one day, a much later time towards the end of my study, she confessed that she was wrong. There were others too, who for some reasons felt that they had wronged me, confessed in an indirect way and apologized to me with teary eyes before they we all went our separate ways. And I felt....indifferent.

During those hard times, I remember a certain someone, whom I had hurt but nevertheless was kind enough to tell me:-

"Biar je...tengok je nanti diaorang kat mana and you kat mana!"

To that person, you know who you are when you read this. I thank you for forgiving me for the pain I had once caused you. And I am eternally grateful to you for being there at that time when I was at my lowest. I hope he manages to read my birthday wish within 8.11.2008. Happy 25th Birthday dear friend.

And here I am, at this moment, trying to show to the world what a victim I've been. Whining over how certain people had mistreated me, betrayed me. Indirectly trying to announce to the world at large that I'm doing well. Gladly shoving the "I was right all along" in the face of those who deserved it. Do all of these matter? What do I seek to achieve from all these?

I don't know...it just feels good to be able to talk about it here. Such valuable experiences of life, I would never trade them for anything else. In the end, it doesn't matter whether I was right or they were wrong. It doesn't matter where I am now. In fact, I've not achieved that much to entitle myself to brag. What matters most is that despite all that, I am still me. The silly, pathetic, gullible, romantic, naive me.

I survived. I believe I'm stronger now. I'm grateful. I forgave them. I forgave myself. I'm at peace.

Due Introduction - The First Dance

SLOW DANCE by David L. Weatherford

Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask "How are you?"
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say "Hi"?
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

This poem was introduced to me by Ms Jenny John, an English lecturer in UiTM i think sometime in the year 2002 or 2003. Back then, I was in my 2nd or 3rd year reading law. Ms John taught us English Literature, a subject which I've always had great interest in (compared to boring law books). Ms John explained, after reading out the poem to us, that the said poem was written by a terminally ill 7 years old girl named Amy Bruce. We were surprised to learn how Amy, being such a young girl, a child, could come up with such a mature and beautiful piece of literary work! It surely did puts extra emotional icings to the said poem and I remember it till today. It is only much later that I learn the author was not Amy but one David L. Weatherford. He was not terminally ill but an adult male child psychologist. Stories about Amy being the author was created by some people who are keen in contributing to internet hoaxes.

Be it Amy or David, I'm still glad that this poem was introduced to me. It reminded me to take a step back and ponder over the delightfulness of the many little things that used to be able to make me feel happy. It made me stop to think, be thankful and most importantly breathe. Sometimes I got too caught up with in the fast pace of working life that I forgot to breathe, properly. I took the sweetness of the freshly cut grass, the warm and comforting smell of home and the delicious aroma of mom's cooking, all for granted.

The above poem inspired me to name this humble blog of mine as Slow Dance. The title may be the same, but I'm slow dancing to a different tune than that of Mr. Weatherford or Amy (for that matter). Most of the time I dance alone. Perhaps in time, there will be someone who would dance with me, to our tune.

I do not expect any claps nor praises at the end of each of my dances. I don't even expect pleasant thoughts from anyone as well. Perhaps my blog might end up being the most ignored blog in history. Be that as it may, my dances are my thoughts, which I hope could soothe the wandering hearts of those who may be feeling the same way as I do.

Let's dance.

Depression - Choice or Consequence?

They say that happiness is not a result but a choice. Take it from Abraham Lincoln's "A person will be just about as happy as they make up their minds to be" or Marcus Aurelius's "Life is what your thoughts make it."

The same should, without any bias, applies to unhappiness. Is it really a choice? From when does the choice starts? Can choices inevitably become consequences? It would seem that choices are there in everything we do. From choosing to hit that snooze alarm button in the morning all the way to choosing to set the alarm time before we hit the sack. How can happiness be a choice when you choose to ignore the alarm and end up fighting with your siblings/housemates/roomates over who gets to use the bathroom next, end up encroaching on peak hours on the road and having to endure the bumper to bumper crawl traffic, missing the nearest parking space and inevitably late for work/appointment/meeting. Can you still choose to be happy after getting "the look" from your boss, "the bitching" from your subordinates and "the speech" from your next-cubicle neighbor?

Apparently motivators would argue that you can (doesn't necessarily mean that they believe so). How about people like me who doesn't believe in motivational books/speeches? We believe that the whole "choice" thingy, is a whole load of crap topped with generous vanilla icing. - totally indigestible and unacceptable.

We don't choose. We simply follow the flow of things. We follow the flow of life. To choose (and be able to choose) something against the natural flow of the inevitable would mean to be in denial. Let us not choose something, which we know deep down in our guts, that can't fit in right. Let us embrace the despair, frustration, angst, loneliness and woe, in view of letting it go once we find no use to dwell in it any further. To put it bluntly, stop bullshitting yourselves.

I am embracing it. I will eventually let go. But when? That I'll have to choose.