http://psy90.blogspot.com/2009/09/happy-birthday-dianne.html

You made me tear, again, in a good way. I'm getting emotional again.

Reminiscing about the past really made me wish I was there to re-live it all over again. No matter how silly we were, running around as though we were 5-year-old kids, lazing around when it comes to bath time, or just about anything, we were, in fact, really, really happy. And you were one of the reasons why I enjoyed my high-school.

Sorry for being all “emo”, I just miss you so much.  I miss how I asked you what is “6 x 2”, knowing very well the next second that it is simply “12”. I still remember the “what the heck” look you gave me. I miss watching anime together, making sushi that some-what succeed (I suppose for 14-15 year olds), playing Pictionary, cards, everything. I want to return. I miss laughing with you. I miss being young, and innocent, and that our only worry would be if we passed our History paper.

There are all these memories flowing through now.  Knowing that it is all past, somehow makes me feel a little sad, especially now not being able to see you as often as before. Probably there’s just this tiny fear of losing all these sweet thoughts, and how we are not able to create new moments due to restrictions that I just want to tear it all down.

Don't worry. I know, the past is past. The future is what we need to be optimistic look forward to. I just wanted to tell you that at times, Dianne worries as well, just like you. :)

Love you lots dear.


Little-Pizza

It’s these times that make you learn.

There are so many strings of thoughts going through the mind. Some brief. Some seems forever. Some vivid, some vague. Some that you tend to laugh about. Some that you rather not recall.
Each day, we have about 50,000 thoughts. Most of them merely sprint through your mind. But there are these few special ones. They make you smile, yet they make you tear. You remember the sheer happiness. You remember the pain and anguish. You wonder, what went wrong. You wonder, what went right. Sometimes, you feel like re-living it. Yet sometimes, you wished you could just release it. It’s there. You still hold on to the edge of it. Some here and there, from years ago, months ago, days ago. Sometimes, you may think you had forgotten about that fine strand, but in fact, it has not been; just buried deep within. And when you sincerely look at that string again, past emotions would gush over, flooding your soul all over again.
It leaves you a sense of significance. How you lived in a realm that did not just merely pass by, but left behind a token; that fine strand that signifies a chapter that was well mattered. Al least, it meant something. Just believe in that; you’d find comfort in it.

I kept looking at this one fine piece, of how much I missed it; and of how much I feared it would turn to dust. It held a part of me that I want to remember, but at the same time, a part I want to forget. I wonder what it would become of; just another bit of the bunch, or one of the few that is noteworthy. I fear the case would the first. I fear it was an insignificant log, like everything I put in was merely astray to the back alley. It just proves the idiocy of a person fooled by their own wants, like throwing yourself in a mirage, believing it was an oasis. It screams the worthlessness of one self. It screams the pathetic wail of desires that one engrosses in. It leaves behind a great slump in confidence, in assurance. It leaves behind frustration, and anger. Of all these emotions that destroys trust, and belief. There isn’t a reason, then, to put faith in, but to just stop believing.
 If only one can know, and believe, that it was significant. If only one knew not to deem insignificance due to the fear of a wound. A cut is not just there to hurt, or to remind of hurts. It is, but to remind of reason and of importance. How much relieve would it yield, how much meaning would it bear. At least to acquire this last bit worth and carry it forward, and move on.
But what if it was otherwise; that your perceived significance is only an image created by your own need for acknowledgement? That never it was intended to be real. What if that piece of strand is indeed just another one; trivial and replaceable?
One was simply fooled. No truth existed then, nor will one know why. Probably, there’s not even a decent reason, but one that is better off unknown.

That strand. There’s no way I am able to dispose of it. It had carved a picture within, something that you cannot erase with an eraser. I suppose burying it would be sufficient for now. Let it be buried deep that it may be difficult to encounter it again, by all means. Despite it through being ignorant, or to disregard, to detest and hate, or even thoughts one would not forgive oneself for. As long as you use all means, it will be buried deep; even if it’s by selfish means. To sketch a false image of another, allowing acceptance of your egocentric acts. Disregarding personal principles, disregarding integrity. You will be immune to whatever harm it could have caused. You will be protected. At least, you will forget. I will ignore, I will detest. I will hate. I will bury it, no matter what. Whatever it takes, if I am able to, I will.

I rather take a short-cut, even if there’s a risk for regret.
Forgive me, I’m just weary.

Little-Pizza

"There's no place like home," a quote from L. Frank Baum's fantasy The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

The last three months at home, was yet the warmest feeling I had. It’s like going back to my habitual life, seeing people that I missed and love, sharing moments that would be nailed in my head for a long, long time. It felt like huge open arms welcoming me home, ever so sincere and tender.

When I left home in January, I somehow did not feel like I was leaving as much, because I knew I would return in Summer. Now, leaving again and probably not returning until 2011, I have this sense of realization that I’m leaving; I’m really leaving. I’m leaving the comfort of my messy room, the luxury of owning a car, the most awesome food place you can ever find, the familiar nag by my Aunt, the customary music from my brother’s cell phone, the silly and funny questions my mum asks, the laughter from “bullying” friends; all that, and much more. This time, I just know I’d miss home much more.

Both me and Natalie agreed on the fact that we just don’t want to return to the lives as a University student, the fact that we have to return to a life full of lectures, tests, assignments; remembering what we went through in the last semester gives us a sense of weight to return, after having a taste of home. But well, we still have to move ahead. Who knows? It may turn out better than we would expect, hopefully.

6 months ago, that was merely a test-run.
Now, it’s the real deal.


Little-Pizza

To complete another?

There has been this supposing romantic idea that a special person would be able to complete you. Well, nobody is perfect, but perfection is not wholeness. Is it true that there is a void in our hearts, that in order to be complete, another must fill it?

I learned once in Buddhism that the source of suffering is attachment. I remembered the lecturer asking us this question: Can one love without attachment? Love, but at the same time, being able to detach from one, without bringing oneself to associate with another.
I thought it was not possible. I didn’t understand how it could happen. I believed that love which includes more attachment would mean loving in a higher degree, and love that has less attachment would mean loving in a lower degree. I realize I was wrong. It is exactly the opposite.

Loving without attachment, is unconditional love; something that you give freely. We sometimes hold back from expressing our love due to the fear of rejection; that it is not being reciprocated. This signifies that we are setting up conditions for our love. But unconditional love is simply giving love, while having detachment from the results. We expect nothing in return, good or bad.  On the contrary, we often love wanting to be loved back, we expect security, affirmation, praise, and care. That is love with conditions – attachment, therefore, as Buddhism would put it, the cause of suffering.

When we are hurt because someone left us, it’s not because we love them, it’s because we expect them to remain. When we are hurt because someone betrayed our trust, it’s not because we love them, it’s because we expect them to be honest and sincere. Our hurts are not propelled by our love towards them, but the expectations we have for them. It’s like being selfish, whereas love is supposed to be selfless. We expect them to be inducers of our smiles and laughter. We expect them to give us a sense of importance. Our happiness does not come from love, but what they did for us. Those are the results that we attach ourselves with; what we expect or want from a relationship. Those are conditions that merely proof that humans are selfish by nature, we are still concerned more on “me” – our needs, wants, emotions, happiness.

So, can someone “complete” us? I’m not sure. I might say that the sense of us being completed by another may just be merely an illusion. Probably that someone just made you feel better about yourself when they boost your ego, I mean, that’s what we expect out of them right? – For them to make us feel “worth” or happy in a sense. Who would hang out with someone that constantly makes you feel insignificant and worthless? Then again, we move back to the undeniable factor of attachment.
But somehow, I think that no one is able to “complete” us.  Probably “wholeness” does not come from the external, but within us. It’s like, a journey one must travel on his own, or a question only to be answered by yourself. Not to say we ignore the relationships we have, they would be needed somewhere in us, but just not this particular void. I think we can be “whole”, despite not being able to have a special someone to “complete” us by this mystical thing called Love– it’s not like one cannot live without a someone – but maybe having an experience with someone, which truly love, would be an addition to what is already “whole”.

But purely unconditional love? Almost impossible for the plain human capacity.


Little-Pizza