Laugh at me. Don't laugh at my dream. It's fragile enough being a dream.
I need something to look forward to.
For just how long, and how far can I go?
Take me seriously.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Monday, November 17, 2014
about that little voice inside my head
Passed my driving test today. Man it felt pretty awesome to cross the freakin bridge without getting any points off. Life, for a moment, seems achieveable as long as we try hard enough.
Two weeks into the new job. Still not sure how I feel and there's a lot of confusion about how to do things. There's so much too learn, and I don't like not knowing. I have the tendency to panic over stuff I'm not knowledgeable about, or stuff I can't seem to be able to fathom enough to do smoothly. I tend to want to run away from things. I get jealous of Z sometimes. Not because he's smart and, well, knows how to do a lot of tech things I have no clue about, but because he's actually enjoying it. I feel intimidated by his pure joy over figuring out to do this and that with simple, and pretty, lines of code. I know I could never get to be that good. I lack the curiosity, the hunger for new information, and probably the most important, the wanting to dive in to know the not knowing. Not in this field.
I keep wondering though, how far, and how long, I could go along with this path. Wondering, if one day, when I can't stand wondering anymore, would I be able to start again. Would I have the strength to do it all over again. Would I find enough courage, enough passion to go through with it. Or is it just one of those impulses of youth? One of the many alternatives I imagine for myself hence, only stays pretty in imagination but never stays practical in reality. I do it again. Wonder and wonder again. It's like an endless cycle where I get caught in self interrogation. I want an answer from myself, but myself wouldn't speak the truth and keep shaking its head. A part of me already gave in. It says, "you won't be able to follow it through, simply because you don't want to. you want something different than this, you know quite well what it is". But the other part, which seems like the more rational one, gets back "how can you be so sure you'd be happy giving up? you're just finding excuses to run away from things that look tough. life hasn't even thrown you any curve balls yet, babe". Tell me, how can I be so sure?
Z knows that I don't like it. That's quite a relief I have to admit. It's like, I don't have to try to be interested when he's tech talking anymore. Okay, that came out wrong. It's more like, I don't have to try to make myself like it to make him happy. I'd always listen to what he had to say. I'd ask questions, very stupid questions and have him explain things over and over again for me because I hadn't quite processed it at once. I'd be excited to hear about what he coded, to see the outcome and to give him my opinions. Any of these would come from genuine feelings I swear, and he doesn't need me to be in love with it like he is, to know that I truly care, and that's comforting I think.
Mom talked about how she would send me back to school if I wanted to. Can't say I don't want to. But to say that I want to is to tell her I'll be away from home for a few more years, that she'll have to spend a lot more money on me when I'm not sure myself if I could do anything with what I learn. So I gave her a vague answer as always, "I don't know", which annoys the hell out of her every time, with a little bit of grumpiness and a pouting face. It pisses her off, but that's how I pretend I don't care for now. Very much like a typical teenager, not sure if puberty ever left me in the first place anyway, that's how I keep my cool in everything with her.
Okay, need sleep. Work awaits tomorrow. Kiss you goodnight world. You're so much more beautiful when night falls.
Two weeks into the new job. Still not sure how I feel and there's a lot of confusion about how to do things. There's so much too learn, and I don't like not knowing. I have the tendency to panic over stuff I'm not knowledgeable about, or stuff I can't seem to be able to fathom enough to do smoothly. I tend to want to run away from things. I get jealous of Z sometimes. Not because he's smart and, well, knows how to do a lot of tech things I have no clue about, but because he's actually enjoying it. I feel intimidated by his pure joy over figuring out to do this and that with simple, and pretty, lines of code. I know I could never get to be that good. I lack the curiosity, the hunger for new information, and probably the most important, the wanting to dive in to know the not knowing. Not in this field.
I keep wondering though, how far, and how long, I could go along with this path. Wondering, if one day, when I can't stand wondering anymore, would I be able to start again. Would I have the strength to do it all over again. Would I find enough courage, enough passion to go through with it. Or is it just one of those impulses of youth? One of the many alternatives I imagine for myself hence, only stays pretty in imagination but never stays practical in reality. I do it again. Wonder and wonder again. It's like an endless cycle where I get caught in self interrogation. I want an answer from myself, but myself wouldn't speak the truth and keep shaking its head. A part of me already gave in. It says, "you won't be able to follow it through, simply because you don't want to. you want something different than this, you know quite well what it is". But the other part, which seems like the more rational one, gets back "how can you be so sure you'd be happy giving up? you're just finding excuses to run away from things that look tough. life hasn't even thrown you any curve balls yet, babe". Tell me, how can I be so sure?
Z knows that I don't like it. That's quite a relief I have to admit. It's like, I don't have to try to be interested when he's tech talking anymore. Okay, that came out wrong. It's more like, I don't have to try to make myself like it to make him happy. I'd always listen to what he had to say. I'd ask questions, very stupid questions and have him explain things over and over again for me because I hadn't quite processed it at once. I'd be excited to hear about what he coded, to see the outcome and to give him my opinions. Any of these would come from genuine feelings I swear, and he doesn't need me to be in love with it like he is, to know that I truly care, and that's comforting I think.
Mom talked about how she would send me back to school if I wanted to. Can't say I don't want to. But to say that I want to is to tell her I'll be away from home for a few more years, that she'll have to spend a lot more money on me when I'm not sure myself if I could do anything with what I learn. So I gave her a vague answer as always, "I don't know", which annoys the hell out of her every time, with a little bit of grumpiness and a pouting face. It pisses her off, but that's how I pretend I don't care for now. Very much like a typical teenager, not sure if puberty ever left me in the first place anyway, that's how I keep my cool in everything with her.
Okay, need sleep. Work awaits tomorrow. Kiss you goodnight world. You're so much more beautiful when night falls.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Sunday, November 9, 2014
the silly things we do
The silly things we do.
We count how many times they say they love us. How many messages they send us a day. And we try to figure out any hint of "wrong" hidden behind the words and start freaking ourselves out.
We wonder across all these miles and time zones, what are they doing? Are they having fun? Glad they you're having fun. Are they having fun without me? This late at night? How can they be having fun without me?
We have a million different questions, but at times none at all. All we're waiting for is words sent from the other side of the world. "hey". "lying in bed, just woke up". We adore the messages coming from their mornings. They wake up and they think of us. What's more can we ask for in this world?
Sometimes it's hard though. Like, really really hard. We crave the stereotype things people would do with people, so very badly there's an instant sickness felt in our stomachs, and we fight the emotions coming in the shape and sound of waves rising from where the sickness felt, passing through the ventricles of our heart, making its beating rhythm out of sync for a moment, and running straight to our now-getting-damp-eyes, demanding to be known publicly. We fight the dampness. We fight the subtle heat. We fight the salty taste from rolling down. The biological mechanism behind the emotions when we catch sight of a hand hold on the street. It's a tough fight.
A lot of time we're not sure if we say the right words. Words are tricky. They were intended one way, yet after crossing oceans and time and space, they come out another. All happens in an instant of hitting Enter. It's hard to anticipated how words are coming across on the other side of distance. But all we've got is words. All we can give is words. We can only hope that the feelings we send along, the caring, the longing, the missing we package in those simple words would make their way to them, that the difference in time and space won't strip what we mean along the way. We can only hope.
The silly things we do. Uncountable. So very irrelevant. Irrational. Carrying no sense. Yet, we keep doing the silly things. We tell ourselves to be strong when there are times we just want to be weak in their arms. We say, just a little longer as we're counting days and nights. We're our own therapists, (because hell yeah, we're pathetic and desperate and have no money to afford therapy) learning ourselves to trust more, to have more faith, not just in them but in ourselves. We've come a long way.
We choose this. We choose the silly things. Because the silly things feel true to us. Because in the midst of the chaos, the many self doubts, the lots of self second guessing, the silly things let us know we're never once unsure about them. We choose them. Time after time. We'd choose them over and over again. Until one day, the silly things we did turn out to be the wisest we've ever done.
Or not. Who knows if they'll stay silly for the longest of time. It's okay though, as long as they do the silly things with us too.
Much love.
We count how many times they say they love us. How many messages they send us a day. And we try to figure out any hint of "wrong" hidden behind the words and start freaking ourselves out.
We wonder across all these miles and time zones, what are they doing? Are they having fun? Glad they you're having fun. Are they having fun without me? This late at night? How can they be having fun without me?
We have a million different questions, but at times none at all. All we're waiting for is words sent from the other side of the world. "hey". "lying in bed, just woke up". We adore the messages coming from their mornings. They wake up and they think of us. What's more can we ask for in this world?
Sometimes it's hard though. Like, really really hard. We crave the stereotype things people would do with people, so very badly there's an instant sickness felt in our stomachs, and we fight the emotions coming in the shape and sound of waves rising from where the sickness felt, passing through the ventricles of our heart, making its beating rhythm out of sync for a moment, and running straight to our now-getting-damp-eyes, demanding to be known publicly. We fight the dampness. We fight the subtle heat. We fight the salty taste from rolling down. The biological mechanism behind the emotions when we catch sight of a hand hold on the street. It's a tough fight.
A lot of time we're not sure if we say the right words. Words are tricky. They were intended one way, yet after crossing oceans and time and space, they come out another. All happens in an instant of hitting Enter. It's hard to anticipated how words are coming across on the other side of distance. But all we've got is words. All we can give is words. We can only hope that the feelings we send along, the caring, the longing, the missing we package in those simple words would make their way to them, that the difference in time and space won't strip what we mean along the way. We can only hope.
The silly things we do. Uncountable. So very irrelevant. Irrational. Carrying no sense. Yet, we keep doing the silly things. We tell ourselves to be strong when there are times we just want to be weak in their arms. We say, just a little longer as we're counting days and nights. We're our own therapists, (because hell yeah, we're pathetic and desperate and have no money to afford therapy) learning ourselves to trust more, to have more faith, not just in them but in ourselves. We've come a long way.
We choose this. We choose the silly things. Because the silly things feel true to us. Because in the midst of the chaos, the many self doubts, the lots of self second guessing, the silly things let us know we're never once unsure about them. We choose them. Time after time. We'd choose them over and over again. Until one day, the silly things we did turn out to be the wisest we've ever done.
Or not. Who knows if they'll stay silly for the longest of time. It's okay though, as long as they do the silly things with us too.
Much love.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
stay
"Not really sure how to feel about it
something in the way you move
makes I feel like I can't live without you"
something in the way you move
makes I feel like I can't live without you"
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