To my best friend with love

We met in university. From the moment I met him, we hit it off as if we were long lost siblings that were somehow separated, and now found each other again. It was as if I had known him all my life. He was a kindred spirit.

Unfortunately the day came when we had to say goodbye and get on our respective paths in life. His path led him across the causeway. My path remained here. I am awful in keeping in touch. But he persevered. He always kept in touch. He never lost me.

He is the only person who knows me. Truly knows me, with all my failings and imperfections. And he is still my friend in spite of that. He does not judge me. He listens. He cares. He is always there for me.

Looking back at my life, I realize that he was, and still is, my best friend. Best friends need not see each other or talk to each other every day. Best friends need not always agree on everything. Best friends dwell in your heart long after you have said goodbye. I know I am in his heart as much as he is in mine.

Happy birthday my darling friend!

Listening is a dying art

I find that people are not interested in listening anymore. People are only interested in talking. As if only their opinions and their points of view matter. What I say is never important, never worth paying attention to, never worth listening to.

I find that I am becoming more and more quiet, just listening to the people around me talk, and keeping all my feelings, opinions and views to myself. Or if I am afforded the opportunity to talk, I have to talk about the things that interest the people I am with, not the things that interest me.

Sometimes I just need someone to listen to my deepest darkest feelings without being judgmental, without a counter-argument, without interruptions. Sometimes I just need someone to listen.

But then again, if people were listening to me in the first place, I would never have started this blog.  

The man that I do not like

There is a man that I do not like. I will not say that I hate him because oddly, I do not know him well enough to hate him. So let’s just say that I do not like this man. Even the most objective person will tell you that I am justified in disliking this man.

That is not to say that I wished anything ill would befall him. Of course there were the jokes that if only people like him did not exist, this world would be a better place. But these were words said in jest without any second thoughts to it. It was meaningless chatter expressed out of frustration, and not a serious desire of ill will.

Recently I heard that a serious mishap had befallen him. He is hospitalized and apparently fighting for his life.

I am unable to feel any pity or sympathy for his predicament. I do not feel sorry for him. In fact, as a believer of karma, I think he got what he deserved.

Does that make me a bad person?

Change

I never really liked Change. He is a regular Mr. Know-it-All who likes to impose his will upon you regardless of whether you are prepared to accept him or not. He does not care what you think or what you want. He thinks he is always right. There is no stopping him. He will bulldoze his way into your comfort zone and the next thing you know, you are wondering how the hell you missed the hurricane he bestowed on you. But you know for a fact there was a hurricane because you are left to clean up the mess.

Every time Change drops by for a visit, you have to reorganize your life back to order. You have to work around Change. You can’t even wait around for him or prepare yourself for him with all available ammunition, because he has the tendency to ambush you when you least expect him. Just when you think everything is going fine, your life is finally in order, Change sneaks up on you and puts your whole life into disarray.

Change is one of those people who you just can’t get rid of, and who will not leave you alone no matter how fast or how far you run. He is always there. He will always catch up with you. Sometimes he waits patiently to catch you off guard. Most of the time I just adapt to Change. But that does not mean I like him.

Old friends are like chocolate cake

There is nothing like old friends. When I met 2 of my old friends (primary school friends, in fact) the other day, there was a burst of nostalgia. Memories of a distant era came flooding back. Memories that had all but faded due mainly to the passage of time, but in part to growing up. As you grow up, you meet a host of different people from all walks of life and no matter how brief the meeting, a little bit of them rubs off on you.

Years later, you wonder who you really are. Old friends will help you remember who you are. Or at least, who you once were. I try to hold on to that person, mainly because I actually liked who I was. I think I have succeeded although I have changed a lot. It sounds paradoxical but it is really not. Change is inevitable. But your core identity should always remain.

Walking down memory lane with my old friends, I am proud to say that I am still that person I used to be. Older, of course, wiser (I hope), more experienced, some changes in the way I view things, but deep down, the same person. And I’m happy to observe that my friends have remained the same as well. Changed but the same. It is difficult to explain.

So long as I hold on to that core identity within me, I know I will be alright come what may. Old friends are like chocolate cake. They offer some sweetness in an otherwise bitter world.

Beyond repair

The last time it broke, it shattered into countless pieces. Some were too small to be recovered, some were scattered too far and were lost forever. Even with my best efforts at repairing it, it would never be the same again. It could never revert to its original pure and pristine state that it once was in, a long time ago.

It still bleeds from the punctured crevices. I have tried everything. Glue, cellophane tape, staples, safety pins. I have even tried letting it heal by itself via the passage of time. It has no doubt regained some strength. It was in a critical state for many months whilst the repair and maintenance work were being undertaken. For a long time, it looked as if it would be permanently disfigured. But my efforts and hard work were not all futile. It is at least recognizable now.

And yet it still bleeds sometimes. There are gaps that I may never be able to plug. I guess I will just have to continue sealing the gaps whenever there is a leak, and be more careful with it. It was never really that strong to begin with. The slightest knock could cause it to crack. It was always fragile, sensitive, idealistic, vulnerable. No doubt a manufacturing defect.

And now, please excuse me while I tend to my wounded heart.

A tribute to my muse

Growing up was not easy for me. I was always the odd piece of jigsaw puzzle that did not fit in the picture. I tried. But it was always never enough.  

And then I heard you. Your words inspired me to rise above the occasion. To not be afraid of who I am. To hold on to what I believe in, even if the whole world is against me. To never give up without a fight. To stand up for what is right no matter what the circumstances and no matter who I’m up against. To rebel. To dream. To have courage in my convictions. To be myself even if it meant not conforming to the rules.

Life is never easy and never fair, and will sometimes let me down. But through the good times and the bad, I should never stop being true to myself, and being who and what I really am. And when times are especially bad, there is always a heaven above me.

So though we have never met, I feel that I’ve known you for a lifetime. Your words of wisdom, advice, encouragement, comfort and guidance speak to me through your songs. Today I am who I am partly because of you. And I am forever grateful.

Happy birthday Axl! 

1984 - George Orwell

This has to be the most depressing book yet. For there is something worse than physical pain, heart breaking revelations, torture and death.

It is total mind control i.e. when an individual ceases to possess the ability to distinguish between right and wrong, truth and lies, reality and fiction, by way of doublethink – “the power of holding 2 contradictory beliefs in one’s mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them … This process has to be conscious, or it would not be carried out with sufficient precision. But it also has to be unconscious, or it would bring with it a feeling of falsity and hence of guilt.”

For example, if someone were to tell you that the British never conquered Malaysia, you would know that this was a lie because the facts prove otherwise. But your mind is completely subjugated that although you (subconsciously) believe it is a lie, you (consciously) truly and genuinely come to believe that the British never conquered Malaysia. It never happened. And that is the truth. You will forget that you ever believed otherwise by operation of doublethink.

Imagine becoming a complete slave, incapable of critical thought or individualism. No opinions of your own. No freedom to think what you want to think. In essence, no you.

That, to me, is worse than death. And here and now, I thank God that I am alive and free.