& not-so deep secrets
huiting says hi
Welllllll this is the public blog, so the things written here should be more-or-less stomach-able. ;) So I guess this is where I say the mandatory line:
This blog documents the thoughts and growth process of:
A free soul roaming the world in search of some meaning to life.
Pretty sure that's not the exact way I phrased it when I had my old blog skin but WTV HAHA.
Oooooh wait I think I wrote it as "lonely soul" instead of "free soul". But hey guys I've grown out of that emoshitz phase already alright ;)
人生就是要盡情地瘋 ／ I am a free soul.
more of me
Naruto: Hokage Funeral Theme (Guzheng) youtube instagram Facebook twitter & my dearest Ting Ting
Friday, January 26, 2018 @ 5:31 PM
censorship and obstacles;I seem to have lost the ability to express my disorientation and emotionality to my peers when it is necessary. Along the way, I've acquired the perspective that one cannot seem weak in front of other people, in this world. Is this a sort of stereotype against adults? That all adults have to either 1. have their shit in order, or 2. appear to have their shit in order, if not they will be put into a very undesirable position?
Is it really true that we should only seem vulnerable in front of a certain circle of people? There are circumstances in which showing your vulnerability will help you to connect more with other people, is it not... Hmm. I don't have good examples on my mind yet.
But then again, perhaps that it is all just a show. Perhaps the people who show that they are vulnerable are actually strong inside - strong enough to be able to fearlessly show their vulnerabilities.
Sigh. This is something that has been plaguing me recently. I still don't know how to decide when it is okay for me to reach out for help, and when I should be capable of doing things by myself. And who the other parties ought to be, in the event that I decide that I have to reach out for help.
But perhaps what he said is correct. One can have the faith that an unpredictable person can shine and keep her head in tough times, but there must exist logical reasons behind that faith. The notion I had in the past, of hiding my strengths and only impressing the viewers at the last possible moment is a notion I cannot afford to continue holding now; it is a notion of the past, indeed.
I've also noticed recently that great chunks of memories are slipping out of my brain's reach. I can't really remember what I did yesterday, or the day before yesterday, or the day before that - or rather, I can remember, but the chronological order is confusing. I'm not sure why my brain is so desperate to remember each detail; if I don't remember them, it feels like I am doing a great disservice to myself and to the world. Strange, really. Why do I want to remember all these details? Ought I write down the more significant things that I've been through?
Like last Friday, 19 January 2018, when we met up for dinner at the Star Vista and talked out our troubles and misunderstandings and differences and pains. And we ate A-one claypot porridge.
It feels like a month ago. Why? Amsterdam was just two weeks ago. It feels like a month ago as well.
I might be losing sight of the days, like how people tend to lose track of the days in their vacation periods. But my vacations are limited. And I am filling each of them up, for reasons I do not really know why (I know why, actually - I don't want to 'waste' my time on doing nothing. Why are we so afraid of doing nothing?)
Has writing here managed to lift some of the strain off my mind? I hope so. The rhythmic hitting of my fingers against the keys is soothing. I like how I can materialise intangible substances like thoughts into something tangible, here, on the screen - the black pixels set in stark contrast with the white. I like to describe things. I don't want to think about the implication of the statement I've made there. I don't want to see everything in terms of their costs and effects, in terms of the outcome they can bring to me. I don't want to attach a consequence to every thought I have, every action I make and every word I utter. It is exhausting. But I have to do this for some thoughts, some actions and some words. The only question is where do I draw the line? Does my perfectionistic nature tell me that there exists only black and white, and that if I attach a consequence to one thing, I must be consistent and do it across all factors of my life?
Well. This post has been unstructured so far, but it doesn't really matter, does it? A structured nature was not what I set out to accomplish when I typed "blogger.com" into my Safari address bar today. The purpose was to get rid of some of the thoughts invading my mind, to expel them out, so that I can achieve the little bit of peace I so crave from these thoughts. Because there's always this fear that if I don't write them down, I will forget them. I have learnt in recent years that the mind is not infallible. We forget things, all the time. And there is a greater amount of things we have to remember now, as we age, and as we take up more responsibilities in the world, including the responsibility of our selves.
A wordy diarrhoea, that's what this post is. But it may be exactly what I have been craving for the past month. See, one month has passed without me really letting out the accumulating debris in my head. It's no wonder why I feel more and more frustrated as the days pass by.
Can words be a therapy? Can seeing letters after letters fill up pages after pages of documents be a form of relief? I guess so. For years, this seems to be observable in the growing me, at least.
Whisper of the Heart. I wonder if it is applicable in more parts of my life than the ones I've identified so far. Hopefully so.
And now I am getting hungrier. I hope that my mother will come home soon, and that she will have my dinner with her. Strange. I thought I'd be able to stomach a longer period without food (ha ha) after I finished that cup of soya milk (no sugar). This sort of hunger is normal though, I suppose. People are supposed to feel hungry before meals, no? It's a sort of state of being I've forgotten in the recent years, with my increasing gluttony.
Time to read? Well, I can afford to do so. Let's refer back to my priorities for this semester: Read, play piano, rest.
Right. Reading is on the list. Which means that it should be all right for me to push aside other things to accomplish this. (it was getting hard to sort this out in my head. Too many possibilities, options and choices. That's why we need a blog. That's why we need to write down some of these thoughts because your brain cannot possibly hold all of them without imploding on itself.)
See you, my dear.
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