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Tuesday, August 30, 2011
ええと、今は朝だがちょっと何もしたくないからここに帰っちゃった。今日はするべき事が多い。。。日本語のテストの勉強とか、学校の宿題とか、沢山だよね。まだやり始めないけど思うばかりでもう疲れたわ。
で、まずは漢字を覚えること。その後は数学と化学の宿題をすること。これは今日大体の計画だね。
何か大変なのよ、大変。
ところで、昨日は怪しい夢を見た。夢には何か喉がずっと痛くて、一人のおじさんに「重い病気だから早く治したほうがいい」ってアドバイスされて、長い時間医者を捜してみたが結局見つけられなかった。その旅には、変なところへ沢山行ったが、起きた後は多分八十パーセント忘れちゃった。確か誰かと一緒にいったと覚えているけどね。親友かも。
こう書いたら、この夢は何か意味があると思う。病気だった私は何を治すべきだ？誰を捜せばいい？それともどう治せられる？こういう質問が出ているね、生活とは直接な’関係がある見たいから。
とは言え、夢は夢だ、読みすぎれば駄目だよね。
まあ行くっか。もう勉強の時間だよ。。。今始めなければならないね。
じゃっ。
***～～～*Waited for the Winds at 10.59am*～～～
Monday, August 29, 2011
火影になるつもりだったナルト！どうでしょうかなあ。先に描いたラインアートに色をしたら、上の絵のようになったって、どこか少し不満足だけどこれで十分だと思う。１０ランカイ様の絵とは大変違うんだが、少しずつ進めばきっと追えるんだよね。その為にがんばれがんばれがんばれ～！
んで、また急に日本語で日記を書くの理由は自分も分からなくて質問させないで。多分最近日本のことを沢山触れたからけどねえ。。。というわけで、三日前せっかくキノクニヤへ＜ナルト：鬼灯城＞という小説を買いに行ったのに、中々見つけなかったので、代わりにデュラララのライットノベルを買った。 たく、そのナルトの小説を本当に読みたいんだけど！日本には四月にも出されたのに、いったいなんでここにはねえーーーーーー？！
それとも大ヒットなんて。１０ランカイ様はもう三度もブラッドプリズンの映画を見に行ったが、ここに住んでいる私は映画も小説も触られなくて。。。こう思えば本気で苦しい、苦しいよね！このまま来年の四月DVDの出せることを待つしかできねえなあ。本当に苦しい。
まあいっか、最近喜ばせたことも沢山あってよかったから。例えばアザレアと久しぶりに（まあ二週間ぐらいだけだったけど、凄く長い間のようだった）一緒にアホウ見たいな事をして時間を過ごした事とか、チェルとうちでメープルをした事とか。。。そして一番重要のはヘラー君のお父さんがやっと治せられた事、よかったよね！ヘラーはもう二週間心配させたけど、今は全てが以前のように戻って嬉しい見たいから、私はね、もう心配する必要はないだろう？よかったわ、本当によかったわ。
でも試験はまた来るぜ。ちょっと － いいえ、ずっとだよ！ － 早いと思うがそれはやはり生活を出ない真実だなあ。一つまた一つ、一個また一個。。。もう慣れたはずだがやっぱ嫌い。もう散歩できねえ私達は代わりに走る、走る、いつでもどこでも走る、走る、走る。。。何も止められない足は、永遠に走っているかなあ、ってこう考えは怖いね。
まあ、もう遅いよ、今日はここまで。明日も日本語で書くかもしれないね。楽しくて日本語の練習に役に立つから。：）
***～～～*Waited for the Winds at 11.13pm*～～～
Monday, August 22, 2011
It's been two days and no news from Heller's side. He hasn't even been online at all, so I can't reach out to him, neither can I know if everything's going on fine and nothing drastic has happened as of yet. Apparently, he did leave me an offline message yesterday that his dad can't even remember him anymore. It sounded so final when he said it...that tone, that pretense of nonchalance but under which you can sense a kind of desperation, a kind of hopelessness, as if he's losing what motivation he had before and sinking back into his depression. I'm worried, really. I can't do anything in physical reality for him because we're in two different places, but there's got to be a way...some way, any way, by which I can help him?
Sigh. That aside, today was kind of like a new start in some ways. I drifted through lessons half-alive as usual, but some events were pretty uplifting I guess. I bumped into Mr Wong at the cafe during recess today, and he was with this other guy (I didn't quite catch his name) who was tall and white and slightly rosy, with specs I think, and pretty forthcoming. Apparently he's a pro in Oil Painting and I'm roped into attending his Oil Painting portraiture workshop next Monday even though it's technically a school holiday. Mr Wong asked him to guide me in editing my coursework. Ahem...I'm not particularly inclined towards touching that canvas anymore after seven months of toil, and considering how I've managed to screw it up so badly, I think any more work would just overdo it and make it worse.
Well, I guess I don't mind. Anything for a good teacher. I hope that when I grow up and somehow manage to succeed in some kind of artistic career, I can have many worthy teachers to thank. It's always good to have gratitude behind your success. Then you'll be reminded of just how hard the success was to achieve, how much had to be learnt, and how much human kindness there was in those who were willing to guide you; it makes the whole thing a lot more meaningful.
The best thing today was still meeting up with Az after two weeks. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm still a little sore about the award thing, but I've pretty much gotten over it. She did do more than I did and it was something she deserved so I have no reason to mope about something that's utterly justified. I am glad for her. After the initial pang of jealousy and depression, I realised, with relief, that I am able to be happy for her after all. That makes me feel a lot better about myself; I wouldn't like to think of myself as some scheming envious fool who does no good herself but wishes for what others obtained by their own hard work.
I must be open-minded...not everything I don't achieve is a failure. Probably half of the pressure I'm feeling now is non-existent to start with - most likely self-imposed and added upon the expectations of others.
Speaking of expectations, I've realised just how the lonesome experience with 305 and 405 for the past one and a half year has actually did me some good in a certain way. This isolation, while initially seeming like a curse of sorts, actually enabled me to distance myself from the immediate influence of the "masses" and extricate myself from the snares of others' expectations. While I used to be helplessly incapable of venturing beyond the norms and always doing what others did, now I find myself feeling slightly apathetic at times, and this enables me to have my own thoughts, make my own decisions and take my own line of action. It gives me a form of courage that I didn't use to possess. In a way, because I believed that others didn't quite care, I was freed from some kind of former restriction and this freedom is vital towards increasing my capacity for self-expression; in other words, it is rather helpful towards my artistic pursuits as well.
I still have a long way to go of course, as an idealistic introvert who can't quite bring herself to interact actively with the living masses. But I'm improving, step by step, moving on on my own. That's all that matters. Maybe I don't need a guide in life after all, because life, as Heller and I discussed the other day, is a teacher who would guide me on its own.
So yes, where was I? Ah, meeting-up with Azalea. Yeah I was originally planning to take a trip to Art Friend and waste some time there to decide what to do with my 50 bucks, which I didn't want but which my mom insisted on giving me as reward for my Physics and Chem SPA, and probably buy myself some new art materials. I'm wondering if I should start saving up money for a Light Box. Actually I really wonder if a Light Box is of much use, especially since I've started to get the hang of digital lineart and can technically produce more convenient lineart directly in the com. It's not like I do a lot of manga art with traditional media like Copics...I do have to practise them once in a while, but that's, well, once in a while, no point buying a 180-buck machine for it right?
It would make sense to save up for an Intuos tablet instead, but the last time I checked an Intuos4 was around 490+ bucks. Ouch. Cintiq is worse, 1900+ I think. Damn. I really want an Intuos...apparently they said that Bamboo kinda sucks when it comes to proper digital painting, since it's meant for more casual stuff like doodling and things like that. Then again my Bamboo is still serving me quite well (uh possibly because I'm not quite acquainted with the wonders of better tablets o_0), so yes, I'm being stingy and wondering if there really is the need for an upgraded tablet.
Definitely a luxury, but...a need?
Ah well. So we were on our way to Art Friend but we somehow agreed to miss the Far East stop and ended up in some not quite ulu but pretty confusing place near Plaza Singapura, was it? Erm we had lunch at KFC at...4pm. Not the healthiest but I had been surviving on one flimsy roti prata since early morning so I was pretty much flat with hunger, and that was the nearest outlet so we dug in. Well we did some crazy talk, namely History and Mr Mizar's amusing NS Reservice stories. And then after that we scooted off to various shops, like this uber cool Sword shop beside the OtakuHouse - it's amazing, the kind of swords they have that is, I bet Ms Leow got hers from some place like that. Then there was ComicsConnection...as well as some time at Times Bookstore, and we went home by MRT since we were lost and couldn't find the bus stop.
I dunno, it felt like ages since I've walked around a shopping mall without any kind of obligation and intention, with a friend too. It was good meeting up with Az today. It reminded me I still have a life.
Well, I'd better log off now. I haven't written a relatively light-hearted post in a long time, this is probably my first of the month...hopefully it continues. I like melancholic and bittersweet things but not particularly when they pertain to my life.
***~~~*Waited for the Winds at 11.41pm*~~~
Sunday, August 21, 2011
In some kind of strange whim, I went to scour through some of the oldest posts I've written on this blog...say, around the mid-year months in 2008. I'm not quite sure what to feel. I know I've changed a lot, in both good and bad ways, and yet instead of feeling nostalgic or melancholic, I'm actually feeling...nothing at all.
I find it inexplicably strange. For an oversensitive person like me who clings to every sentimental nuance, reviewing my past in words just didn't seem to affect me very much. I read those words I typed, and I could just hear myself two and a half years ago, saying them with an air of ignorance of what is to come and a self-centered foolishness because I thought I could control life. There was over-confidence. Stupidity. Enthusiasm and eagerness. All those yellowing posts in the depths of my archive, reeking of the stench of childishness and contempt...it sickens me to read them, it sickens me to think that I had once been this person, this arrogant individual who asserts herself so bossily and meanwhile claims to be modest. And yet, who I am now sickens me too - in a different way of course, but it averts me away from, well, myself, and I can't help but feel utterly wretched.
Sigh. I dunno, after I calmed down a little yesterday I stopped hurting myself and just...slipped into some kind of momentary reprieve. It's like a lull, a state of limbo. I felt sorry for the Me inside too. In a world where no one believes in me, who will I be if I don't believe in myself either? If I do not have faith in myself, how will I expect others not to betray me too? I may not like Me very much, but it hurts to see Me wasted too, like a mother feeling sorry after having punished her child in a fit of fury and depression. I don't think, and I don't have a heart when I hurt myself. All I wanted then was to let Me know how I hated myself, let Me know how much I have disappointed myself, and that was all I wanted.
I'm not happy of course. I never will be with this Me inside me, because I will never be good enough. But I can't hate myself continually either. Someday, sooner than later, I have to come to terms with not being perfect, with being far from perfect. That's the way things are, and since I'm not allowed to die, I have to live with it.
That's why I felt guilty. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I hope Me will forgive me.
...Fuck. How off, how insanely off, all these ridiculous things sound!
I'm feeling sorry for the girl inside me. I'm feeling sorry for that girl who would be me in my dreamscape, four years younger than the the Me in real life, too withdrawn to speak healthily and always in a state of melancholy as she wanders alone, seeking an elusive something in a vast, dynamic world. She's almost always alone, quiet, slightly frail, and without a notion of family or friend, neither of a foe, for she is isolated...just isolated and detached from the rest of the ever-changing dimension around her. She observes but does not participate. She listens but does not speak.She knows but does not teach. Just another soul drifting through time and space, with no attachments nor motivations, no meaning nor implications, drifting through an indefinite gray space to the end of time.
And that girl is in me. That girl is my inner self, and I am her when I sleep, when I close my eyes and fall into the realm of dreams and astral reality.
I punished her yesterday. For nothing. For what Me in real life did, for what she didn't do. I punished her for nothing.
You know, it's like living in two worlds. One in this solid reality, and another when I sleep, where she takes over my negative life. I am both her and not her at the same time. Sometimes I wonder what she does when I'm awake. Does she sleep in some dark recesses of my mind, like I would when she takes over in dreamscape, or does she stay perpetually awake, wandering, searching, hoping to find that something she does not know but needs to be found?
Sometimes I wonder, too, if I'm alive so I can buy her time to continue searching for that elusive thing. Maybe she lives through multiple lifetimes, infinitely, in a never-ending search for a thing she doesn't even know. Maybe she is a shadow of something that had occurred before, but which I am living to remember. I'm confused, but I'm still seeking an answer. I'm supposed to help her. I'm here to help her, and she to help me, and we're both supposed to find that something together.
I cannot abandon her, because if I look back, she who doesn't have parents, she who doesn't have friends, she who has no home to return to...I am her mother, and she is my child. My child. She is Me, and it will stay that way.
We'll pull through together, we will.
***~~~*Waited for the Winds at 8.17pm*~~~
Thursday, August 18, 2011
I missed 4.0 for Art by 2 marks. I died for my English paper however supposedly decent it is.
I scored 20/20 for Physics SPA skill 4, but that's nothing; it was sheer memorization of the experiment plan which Ms Poh just so happened to cover in tuition, nothing much on my part, so it doesn't prove anything all the same.
I'm so fucked up this year. I have no idea what to say about my Art. I know 3.6 is a pretty decent grade, but decent is...decent is,,,just not enough! Do you understand just how much art means to me?! Do you understand that it's not just the grades, but that it hurts me, mentally and physically, to know that I'm not good enough as always, even in art?! Do you understand?!!! 2 marks. 2 marks, determining a 3.6 and a 4.0, so near yet so far!
I love art, damn it! I love it so much I can't possibly love any more! I hate it that I have to screw up in all I do whatever it is. And yet at the same time I wonder just what has happened to me over the past few years...why am I now unhappy with a fucking decent grade, why am I unhappy with FULL marks? I hate the way I am now! I hate cowering under expectations, and I hate it that I can't get rid of this shit!
Fuck! Fuck it all!
And on a not so light side-note, I'm so damn worried about Heller. He seems to be going through a really tough time. Whatever it is, it's got to be worse than me, I've got to help him! Somehow! I can't watch him fade off just like that, it's not fair...I'm his devsis damn it, whatever it is I can at least try to help him. Oh man Heller please be alright please be alright D:
You're my best buddy online and a damn good listener, I'm just regretting that I haven't listened enough. Why won't you rant? Why won't you tell me?
Why won't you ask for help?
***~~~*Waited for the Winds at 12.18am*~~~
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Sight, sound, touch, taste, smell, they no longer seem to matter to me anymore. The colours of the world are lost to eyes which cannot perceive them, and the sounds of joy and misery are inaudible to ears which fail to listen. Why am I then, living in this incorporeal, deceptive self-absorbed realm of illusions? I see no reason to my actions, and see no meaning to life when I know not my motives and my directions, but merely obey an impulse to keep moving because that's just the way things are.
How am I to explain why I suck so much? What is there to explain? Maybe I was born this way, or maybe I screwed up majorly in the years that ensued and which I did not treasure in more ways than one. Maybe I'm just dumb in the way that I dream too much and realise too little, even if I can't help it, even if I've tried and failed day after day after day. What is the world to me? What am I to the world?
Would it matter if one day I were to succumb to one of those nagging voices at the back of my head, and creep over the balcony, quietly, unknowingly, like the woman did creep in the Yellow Wallpaper, and then delve headfirst into the black borne of oblivion? I do not of course judge the value of my life, nor the value of my death, based on people's reactions. It's better if I passed and bygone without being remembered; less attachments, less burdens on my part and definitely less responsibilities. Then there will be no value to talk about. There will be no indicator to state whether I have lived life fulfilled and sated, or whether I have died unsatisfied and discontent. I want to be neither. I just want to take things the way they are, what's wrong with that?
I'm too tired to say that I hate myself now. It's one of those moments when my mother would scold and curse me so much until she's dried of words and empty of emotions and she would sit gravely by the kitchen table, her hair disshevelled, lips pulled into a frown, and deliberately refuse to look me in the eye as she silently lets me know how much she is disappointed. I'm just too tired, too disappointed, too sick of failures.
I failed both my math papers today. Both. One of them was a fucking careless error that cost me 9 marks simply because I read a major key word in the question wrongly. I don't know if I should be pissed that I am such a dumbass, or remotely relieved that at least it wasn't a conceptual mistake. I don't know, I really don't know anymore.
I'm losing sight, so fast...I need to find a way to help myself soon.
***~~~*Waited for the Winds at 10.11pm*~~~
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
今日は何となく日本語で日記を書きたい。
昨日は病気だったので、何もできなくて映画を借りて見る事に決めた。まあ始めには「武蔵」という映画を見たかったけど、やっぱり古すぎて、どこにも見つけられなかったんだ。んで、変わりに棚の上に置いてあった「告白」という映画を借りた。
ほほほほほほほおおおおおおおおおおおおおお～～～～～～～～～～～～～
すごい映画だったわ！！！
皆はすごくｸｰﾙだった！暗くて大人向く映画だが、私はとてもとても好き～！血が多かったよ。それとも皆はちゃんと頭が問題あったし、皆極端な方法で失った物を取って見たがってた
し、ホホホ、楽しかったよ～
そして見た後本当に思い出させられた。世界はそんなに暗いの？社会はそんなに残酷なの？まあこういう考えがあったの。とてもよい映画だった。
命は価値があるの？－何てね。「笑う」
***~~~*Played with the Winds at 10.24am*~~~
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
I should go, shouldn't I? What am I doing in this world?
If I had a life, if I had a life before this one...I would very much like to ask my past self just why I had chosen this new path to walk. Was he a filthy rich merchant who in the last throes of death thought of experiencing the refreshing spice of bourgeoise hardship? Was she a poor girl who wished for better but never wished high and far enough? Was he a murderer who experienced a stab of guilt while he brought down the blade and thought of repenting in the next life? Or was she a common soul, an excruciatingly normal soul, who, in the last seconds before death, failed to make her wish at all?
I'm not quite sure if I'm looking forward to being insane. Wasn't I insane to start off with? Which kid would at the tender and innocent age of 6 entertain morbid thoughts of people being cut up, people being tortured, people being murdered, people being kidnapped by factories and painfully killed...and god, those doodles, those accursed doodles on those accursed papers done on the accursed kindergarten floor! Innocent scrawls, yet so potent and full of darkness...what am I, really? If I became schizo one day, would this dark persona come out from within? Would I find myself living with this demonic self, who would whisper every night in my sleep and pull my hair and tug on my sleeves and, when I crack open my eyes a fraction of an inch, stare at me with haunting eyes: "Take care of me. I have killed too many."?
Abominable thoughts, such abominable thoughts! And yet, yet, they come to me! These visions, this sadness, this morbid sadism, they can't be embedded in me, can they? If they aren't, then where do they come from? People don't think those things. Normal people, normal children, don't think those things. How can I assure that I won't grow up and let this wretched soul devour all connections with reality? Such abominable thoughts!
Or am I in a personal sense like Hedda Gabler, spiritually deprived, a being encrusted in the grays of uncertainty as it drifts aimlessly in and out of the social common room, in and out, back and forth, up and down, without a care for too many of the cares that it carries on its shoulders? Will I, when I grow up to consume more of this revolting dish of life, finally call the waiter, hand him a pistol, and tell him to shoot the chef for coming up with such a ghastly dish - and do it beautifully? No blood, no brains, no splatters on the sparkling clean white tiles; do it gracefully, subtly, take his life in a courageous and powerful flourish and pass time by into the bourne of inexistence, for no drama will be tolerated, no outburst will be beautiful. Pass away beatifully, as he wished I did.
Or one day I will pass this pistol to my other self, and tell me, take both of us away this instant, away, away, far away! And never shall this be known by those faceless benumbed souls around us, who will not give a moment's hesitation to stare, and stare they will not with genuine curiosity, but with hidden fear that such an act, such courageous beauty, can really exist in their flawless, flawless little world.
Die, Hedda Gabler, die away! Be far gone because you deserve to, you deserve to end your life by your own hands, to choose your destiny by your own mind. Alas you have gained control over one man's destiny, and that man is you, that man is you, Hedda. That beautiful man is you. If only I had such courage as you did, such invaluable insight, to bring forth earlier what inevitably will come to pass!
Incoherence has muddled my words.
Well pass them by, pass them by! I do not mind if, in this very slightest minute, I am very much losing my mind.
***~~~*Played with the Winds at 5.44pm*~~~
Thanks to all the blogs the designer referred to (countless) for html code help :) (esp. cyn' and sixseven)
Adobe Photoshop Elements for supernatural abilities
