"Once you fall down, you stand up and walk again. As here now, you made a mistake, start a new leaf and don't make that mistake again", he reiterated to me again as I sat there, chin thumped heavily on my arms that were entwined with each other lazily on the stone made table provided at this Malay raced shop which provides "halal" food, which means that no pork is served, just around the outskirts of Johor. I had never felt so naked and ashamed in my entire life like how I felt last night, right after sending her off to continue her 100% science based course which lasts only for another 2 years.
"Why did you do it? What was the reason? As far as I know, we weren't bad parents. We were quiet frank and honest with you compared with other parents. We weren't as strict and stern with both of you. What problem so great did you have that led you to do it?", Angel kept poking this injured piece of fresh meat which had bled too much, so much so, there has been blood clots here and there. When all of a sudden, she acknowledges how I could have felt and placed ice on the poked areas, hoping it will cure the wounds by saying, "Actually, I do understand how you feel. Before, I felt the same way you did when I started working. I had no friends, no one to go out and eat with or shop with. So much so, I felt bad going out and so desperately needed a friend. I understand where you come from. I do." Well, how obvious it may seem, the wound-icing didn't work, not even to the slightest bit.
He then interrupted and summed the whole unwanted hype created by his other spouse with whom he hath lived for the past 24 undying lovely years by saying that no matter what has happened, he pledged to keep it behind, as something from the past and made me promise to start a new, clean book by creating the title as Jane Arveena on it and listing down the categories that Jane Arveena should have. I nodded my head childishly, agreeing and accepting to his terms of offer to a brandished new life, not knowing that it is going to affect me in all angles available.
But, one thing's for sure, he proved to me how a great man he was and still is. Not only did I lie to him on both occasions, but I actually had the guts to look at him in the eye and judge every single act, every utter of word and every look that is criticizable, deemed to be taken on by me and scrutinised them to the very extent of actually corrupting the purity of the relationship. Yet, he sits there, quietly and so collective, permissing any illogical opinions of mine and brushes them away, in view that I am just one of those teenagers trying to seek attention.
His focus here is to see me growing up to be the person I was supposed to be : religious, no immoral activities, successful, productive, having my own family and the list goes on. Such of a thought is in his mind is because he has been drafted with this duty called responsibility. The heaviest, most indescribable existence of that very duty where he seeks perfection as the outcome. Thus, protruding a sense of greatness when that is achieved. As quoted by Wiston Churchill : the price of greatness is responsibility.
Psychologically, affecting me in a way where this immense feeling of respect towards him overwhelms me, I can't possibly imagine betraying the promise I had made. Eventhough, I am pretty sure I can't fulfill those requirements of being a perfectionist, as I personally do not believe in perfection, for now, I would try to keep my promise and keep my head as well as my speech low.
"The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection" - George Orwell
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A Little Too Soon
A smile was forcibly carved on this scarred face of mine when I overlooked the earlier entries to my diary. Once upon a time ago when I stated with much enthusiasm and zest; I WANT THE SCHORLASHIP TO UK! somewhat seemed so bland and like an arrow just shot and falls miserably on the ground after hitting a stone, this arrow of foreseeability and so called light, struck this stone hearted of mine and it just burnt in flames.
Flames caused by regret, guilt, despair, hope, lost love, a warmth, a need, a form of comfort once trusted, felt and embraced by every sense of my well being which is now kept in the refridgerator, freezing to death, and just waiting on for someone to take it out and shatter it into pieces with a spike.
Like a guitar left idle, keeping all its power of rhythm that when once plucked will outshine itself from the rest of the crowd. Like a guitar laid on the bed, seemingly comfortable, I sit here, wasting precious time and of total, voluntary ignorance of an exquisite gift in me. A gift once unwrapped open, it will be a talk of the town for years to come. Like a guitar laid on the bed, I continue to be in this aura of ignorance of this gift. And as the absence of plucking that same guitar left idle, I am in the absence of confidence.
The basic, pure confidence of being able to carry my leg and stretch it to reach another step to walk a further mile. The genuine meaning of the word confidence where I know I can throw words into mere jokes or simple sarcasm, with the intention of not hurting anyone and just creating a light mood. Every sense of the word, CONFIDENCE where I know I can go home and meet Angel, Bear and Her for solace and unconditional love and support.
Yet, just one downfall is needed to crush this whole entity of friendship, acquaintances, relations and most importantly, family. Just this one mistake, that doesn't even seem wrong in my eyes, is being poked on day by day, forming new wounds and aggravating old ones, like a kitchen knife cutting through your skin, slash after slash. The thought of a knife cutting through my skin seems to be of a less heartless thing to do as then, I could literally lick my wounds. It differs widely if the weapon was words and the target was an individual's emotions.
Every moment I try to get back the old times where there was nothing but joy, laughter and happiness, reality strikes the Lords of Honour and Purity and they remember all of a sudden that, "Hey, wait a minute. You committed this immoral and disgraceful act. A taboo! Now, zip that mouth shut and know your limits". Words hammer me down 6 feet below, showing me where I really belong - 6 feet under the rest of the crowd. As words are the crux of the very existence of writers, they are undoubtly mightier than a sword.
In this midst of darkness and desolation, one should not lose himself and drown in this disastrous path of a broken future. Optimism kicks in, substituting the lost confidence to lighten this burden (if there was one in the first place) and encouraging one to carry on with life because there is more to life than this. This is just one phase deemed to take place in one's journey to revolution. The world is out there! It is just waiting for you to join in and feel the diversed culture and different colours offered in silver platter before you.
"Future, not a popularity test of the past" - James Reaston
Flames caused by regret, guilt, despair, hope, lost love, a warmth, a need, a form of comfort once trusted, felt and embraced by every sense of my well being which is now kept in the refridgerator, freezing to death, and just waiting on for someone to take it out and shatter it into pieces with a spike.
Like a guitar left idle, keeping all its power of rhythm that when once plucked will outshine itself from the rest of the crowd. Like a guitar laid on the bed, seemingly comfortable, I sit here, wasting precious time and of total, voluntary ignorance of an exquisite gift in me. A gift once unwrapped open, it will be a talk of the town for years to come. Like a guitar laid on the bed, I continue to be in this aura of ignorance of this gift. And as the absence of plucking that same guitar left idle, I am in the absence of confidence.
The basic, pure confidence of being able to carry my leg and stretch it to reach another step to walk a further mile. The genuine meaning of the word confidence where I know I can throw words into mere jokes or simple sarcasm, with the intention of not hurting anyone and just creating a light mood. Every sense of the word, CONFIDENCE where I know I can go home and meet Angel, Bear and Her for solace and unconditional love and support.
Yet, just one downfall is needed to crush this whole entity of friendship, acquaintances, relations and most importantly, family. Just this one mistake, that doesn't even seem wrong in my eyes, is being poked on day by day, forming new wounds and aggravating old ones, like a kitchen knife cutting through your skin, slash after slash. The thought of a knife cutting through my skin seems to be of a less heartless thing to do as then, I could literally lick my wounds. It differs widely if the weapon was words and the target was an individual's emotions.
Every moment I try to get back the old times where there was nothing but joy, laughter and happiness, reality strikes the Lords of Honour and Purity and they remember all of a sudden that, "Hey, wait a minute. You committed this immoral and disgraceful act. A taboo! Now, zip that mouth shut and know your limits". Words hammer me down 6 feet below, showing me where I really belong - 6 feet under the rest of the crowd. As words are the crux of the very existence of writers, they are undoubtly mightier than a sword.
In this midst of darkness and desolation, one should not lose himself and drown in this disastrous path of a broken future. Optimism kicks in, substituting the lost confidence to lighten this burden (if there was one in the first place) and encouraging one to carry on with life because there is more to life than this. This is just one phase deemed to take place in one's journey to revolution. The world is out there! It is just waiting for you to join in and feel the diversed culture and different colours offered in silver platter before you.
"Future, not a popularity test of the past" - James Reaston
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