. . . . .
Saturday, 9 March 2013 @ 23:17
Mental breakdown lagi.
I need a therapist.
Labels: disorder
taknak present worldlit
taknak taknak taknak
!!!
nak telan pil banyak2
jadinya tak payah ngadap muka quayum
takyah ngadap muka budak-budak pandai kelas aku
takyah present
:((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
Labels: disorder
@ 13:42
(In the middle of a phone conversation)
“I hate myself sometimes.”
“I don’t think one is capable at feeling so.”
“What? How come? I do hate myself. So?”
“Sometimes. One is incapable of hating something sometimes.”
“Uh…Do elaborate.”
“To me, hatred can occur in split seconds, but take ‘centuries’ to be removed. During the process of removal, hatred will be temporarily permanent. So, your indication of hating yourself sometimes seems unlikely.”
“Well, don’t take it too far. It was just a figure of speech.”
“So, how long do you actually hate yourself then?”
“To be honest, I don’t.”
“That’s a lie.”
“What the..? I actually don’t hate myself in that weird temporarily permanent sense.”
“So, you love yourself, is that it?”
“Uh…I don't really want to put it that way.
"So, you love yourself, right?"
"Err...How do you suggest I answer that without sounding narcissistic?”
“By saying that, you love yourself sometimes.”
“That sounds pretty odd.”
“At least you would sound logical.”
“What?! OK. Whatever. I seriously don’t see the matter of how long one hates or loves or whatever.”
“It actually really matters.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?”
“Intrinsically.”
“…”
“I sometimes measure the length of it.”
“That’s absurd.”
“If you use the right tools, the right methods, sure you can.”
“Are you high?”
“No. Why?”
“Damn it. Don’t ask me back. I was being sarcastic. What’s the matter with you?”
“Conversations should have questions. If not, how can it last?”
“I beg to differ. Won’t it turn into an interview?”
“With you, I mean. Conversations with you will work if there are a lot of questions.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Our past conversations that contained approximately 90 questions last in an average of one hour and twenty minutes.”
“No kidding! And I suppose, you have been measuring this conversation too? Heh.”
“Until now, it has been precisely three minutes and 16 seconds.”
“What the…”
“Yes. Precisely three minutes and 16 seconds.”
“…”
“And now, three minutes and 18 seconds.”
“…”
“Now, I’m counting your silence.”
“…”
“Why did you say you hate yourself, again?”
“…”
“OK. Now the length of your silence has increased by 1.5 seconds.”
“…”
“Sigh…hello?”
“…”
“Hell-o..?”
“…”
“Your silence now has just increased to 2.5 seconds.”
“You are weird.”
“Your silence is overall, one minute and three seconds.”
“What…?”
“Phew. I thought you’re going to remain quiet.”
“I was about to until I imagine your puppy face turns soppy.”
“Do you still hate yourself?
“Yes, now that I’m talking to you.”
“You can be very mean sometimes.”
“False. I am mean, every time, naturally.”
“Oh, yeah? Give me some numbers.”
“Err…O…kay, I just did. I was being silent for one minute and three seconds.”
“Your calculation is wrong.”
“What? That was your calculation, wasn't it?”
“You were mean, sorry, have been mean for three years, two months, a day, a minute and three seconds.”
“Err… I’m sorry?”
“Apology not accepted.”
“I mean, what did you just said? About the three years thing…?”
“Oh.”
“Uhuh?”
“…”
“Hello?”
“…”
“You are so weird.”
“How do you feel about one being silent at you?”
“Oh! There you are. To be honest? It makes me want to slam the phone down, makes me hate myself. Well, sometimes.”
“It makes me hate myself too, except, more than sometimes. And for some reason, I don’t want to slam the phone down.”
“…”
“It makes me hate myself more and more, for every second of silence.”
“Alright, alright, I get it. How do you suggest I make it up to you?”
“No, don’t. It’s not your fault.”
“Fine. What do you want me to do then?”
“…”
“…”
"..."
"This may sound ambiguous. I just, I want you not to be silent..."
"That's not applicable. I can't promise you that."
"..."
"..."
“And your silence is now…”
(Phone is hung up. A long monotonous tone is heard.)
"1, 2, 3, 4, 5...6...7...
Right now I feel like postponing my graduation. Yes. I can graduate next semester but do I really want to? I don't think I really live my university years. Haven't yet sort out any universities I'm aiming for pursuing my masters at, haven't sent out resumes, heck, haven't even prepared one. Not even have much to be put in it anyway. But my course mates ensured me that graduating early is the best choice. Taekwondo mates, in return, haunt me with inquiries: Why? Why early? What are you gonna do? Why the rush? Peer pressure, indeed making me dwell in this cul-de-sac. Next semester, short semester, the other next semester? Pick one or forever hold your peace. Somehow, a little part of me begs for a therapist. But that thug ain't gonna live with the choice made. I will. Istikharah prayer. Ok. Noted. But what else? Yes, I've listed the pros and cons of graduating early and later. None gave me a precise answer. Ya see, this has developed into quite a monster. Making me angry throughout the semester, feeding me frustrations and whatnot just for a single deadly choice. Well, not that deadly. To be honest, I really don't know what will happen ahead; after graduation. Answering What Do You Love Doing questions is easy but making the right choices isn't. The end of the tunnel is filled with vagueness. Like I'm disallowed at making a choice despite liking so many things. My soul needs to calm down. These pestering voices overwhelm, yes, so I need to calm down. Deep down, I don't want to graduate early. Graduate early, are you kidding me? My train just got off the track and at the moment, I'm still lifting the heavy wheels back to where they belong. The engine hasn't warmed up yet but I choose to get off of it and leave it there? No way. So be it I'm late at holding that scroll in my hands. At least I have more time to fill in the empty blanks of my will-yet-be-written resume. Oh great. I've made my choice. By ranting it out here, lol. And if I choose to finish in solid 4 years, I can add Creative Writing subject I've always wanted. Hooo Yeahhh!
Labels: disorder, gerascophobia, life, nonfiction, rant, time
Saturday, 10 November 2012 @ 18:28
His voice began to dissolve slowly across the room echoing unknown words and phrases. She was flying through images of yesterday and his voice was no longer heard.
She has landed onto the day before. Her feet touched the ground of dry leaves and small twigs. It was raining yesterday. The ground should at least be a bit damp not completely dry like this, she thought. Her legs began to form small footsteps moving forward towards the bush in the middle of the deserted land. Her pace then quickened towards it. She knew what she will be expecting behind that bush she was heading for. It was gruesome, so vivid she couldn’t get it off her head. Her heart and mind refused to continue the pace but her feet were going against her will. As she walked rapidly towards the bush, she looked back to the spot where she landed before trying to imagine going back to that safe spot. One step upon another, the sand and dirt drew her footprints but then they disappeared to the air for the wind erased the traces of evidence. Her body stopped in front of the bush. There was nothing behind the bush except for some dry leaves and twigs. How weird. Suddenly, a loud scream crying for help began to rush through her head repeating words she didn’t understand. Endlessly it begged for mercy. It was tiresome to bother. The painful sound hurt her ears but then it danced through her mind playing her a soothing symphony. She enjoyed the climax but as the agonised cry turned into a murmur of helplessness, a flush of anger rose through her chest. She began to torture the motionless body painting her wrath onto it. It was scarlet as she remembered. It was very vivid and very much red.
Slowly, her breath calmed. She went behind the bush to look for that bright colour. There was nothing. Not even the sounds of cry except for the twigs she had stepped on. Her lips began to curve a smile and it grew into an ear to ear smile. Then, a loud bang on the table was heard.
“Stop smiling! I said, ‘Where were you from 1p.m. to 3p.m. yesterday?’!” The large man in front of her was scarlet with anger. His shoulders moved up and down resisting his anger onto her.
“It was raining, very heavily. I was walking home from school.”
“Were you walking any near this bush?” A photo was thrown in front of her. She took a glance at the awful shot of the bush. Whoever took this is very unskilful. She refused to take a good look at it because she hated bad looking photos.
“Why, there are a lot of bushes in this town, sir.”
“No. Look at this one again. It was raining as you said.”
“Raining… no wonder this is a bad shot.”
“Yes, yes. A witness said that he saw you, clearly, walking away from the bush smiling like a lunatic with your hands full of blood. How do you explain that?”
“Oh yes. That was actually my twin. Have you met her? She was a bit stupid. Everybody hates her. Poor her.”
“Take a look at the photo, miss!”
“I was walking home from school.”
“We knew that already! You were skipping school! You are a bad child! You are a bad child!” His voice panged.
“I didn’t do it! Cassandra did it! I begged her to stop but she refused to stop. She said Emily was laughing at her because she was stupid at school. Cassandra hates it when people laugh at her. So, she said to Emily that Emily was a bad child because she always skips school. Emily laughed again and again she never wanted to stop laughing at Cassandra. So, she stopped Emily from laughing at her. Now, Cassandra is happy because no one will laugh at her anymore.” Her breath was rapid and she felt very relieved though she has blown her secret about Cassandra.
“So, Cassandra is the one who killed Emily?”
“Yes! There were her footprints before but the rain washed them away. But you could ask her if she did it. She wouldn’t lie. She is a good kid.”
“I see. This interrogation has gained so many information that we needed. Thank you, miss…?”
“My name is Cassandra.”