Category: people

39

Miminality2 Comments

Hmm, nothing to write. Waiting ceaselessly for (several) things to materialise. Zombiefied college-going to fill (kill?) time. With each day we live less in terror of the Lennon line and more in faith of the wisdom from Chekhov. Perhaps that is progress. (Such a one-liner whore we are, dear god.)

Meanwhile the good people at this place have decided to do something interesting or the other with an old poem. Those in the know of the history of said poem may notice why we are amused; but irrelevant ironies apart we do happen to be rather intrigued.

On another (slightly petty?) note, should it feel smug or appalling when popular people start to — as the expression goes — “rip off your style”? We have a suspicion this has to do more with insecurity than possessiveness: the distaste for being eventually thought of as a copycat of people you don’t even particularly admire, rather than the loss of what you cherished as a private quirk. If D happens to notice this paragraph, we must dissect, discuss and absolutely demolish the (ahem) philosophy/psychology behind this emotional response on a particularly insipid college afternoon soon enough, alright? That will show ’em sequin-dripping little ghouls, yes. :|

34

Miminality

Have to remind myself, I don’t do that, I don’t do that, I don’t do that. That I do not do.
I shall not.

Yes, I have seen the blog post. If I’m hurt it is not your business, never anymore. But when you treat me like your lab rat you must not be surprised the next time I completely innocently chew off your fingers, shall you? Only fair. So that’s settled then.

Hm. Can’t think of anything witty or profound to say. As usual. =)

25

Miminality2 Comments

I first met Shion in 2005, a few months after he returned from America I think, and in a few days he’s going away again. He had been printing out a bunch of photos to keep with himself, and last afternoon I was surprised to discover I was in any of them at all. From where I stand now 2005-06 seems like a miraculous time, ‘good old days’ as Shion calls them (though I would be more cynical, I would snigger and laugh), back when we thought we were so special and so unbeatable and the world couldn’t have enough of us. But I was surprised, because I could hardly have been what you’d call good friendship material, back in those days. All I remember of myself is a clumsy bundle of intense, unformed naivete and bad attitude – loving hard, fighting hard, dreaming the hardest – the youngest, the foolishest of all and thinking she was the smarter than everyone else. Such days as will never be again. ‘Good old days’, Shion? Maybe. Maybe not.

I don’t know, I don’t know. I miss everything and nothing, I miss nothing. I drift and shed and let it all become someone else’s life. I use the word ‘friend’ with paranoid thrift or else I throw it around casually, and sometimes I let myself forget the difference. I’ve stopped trying to make meaning of anything a long time ago but a blog post is free to write, so I may.

Haha! What else. Look at those little self-important children in the picture.
Um. Yeah, that would be all.

Okaythankyou. Good night sweet ladies, etc. :)

20

MiminalityLeave a comment

I think houses are salvaged by windows thrown open and the sounds of laughter and good music ringing through the rooms. I’m impatient with my interest and awkward in prolonged company but complete isolation depresses me. I think I would be happiest left alone with a book in a room, balcony, staircase, windowsill, corner of the terrace with a party going on next door, content in the knowledge that people I know are having a good time but not quite requiring to circulate. I never really can decide if I am a people lover or a recluse. I enjoy people but sometimes I think I enjoy them only as a concept, in my own time and at my own pace, like people in the books. Sometimes, that’s not really a bad thing.

People in my house have always known how to leave each other alone while miraculously never quite losing track. (Sometimes, that’s not really a bad thing.) The miraculousness of it strikes me more and more with every day I spend in the ‘outside world’, with its elaborate rituals of calling-backs, returning visits, replying emails and the constant terrifying back-and-forth, back-and-forth of everything. I want to lie down in a field of long grass in the rain with my eyes tight shut to the world and my iPod plugged into my ears except that I’m sure that the rain will ruin the iPod and my maid will complain about mud on my clothes and Ma will chase me about for days with gentle reproach and cloying cough syrup and these nagging fears with never let me drown in peace. Why do we always have to come back to reality, why?

I also have to finish cleaning my room which has been only half cleaned which means everything from the shelves has been crashed down on the floor. *Sigh* and *sigh*.