The lies I weave are oh so intricate. Tell me, is your heart still beating?

Monday, 17 May 2010

The fragile link; invisible, yet there.

"To show emotions is not a sign of weakness,
It's a sign of strength.
To cry is not a picture of vulnerability,
It's a sign that you're alive."

If I were to be honest, I'd say these are some of the quotes I hate most. Why? Because it's irrelevant and in my eyes, it's just a lame excuse to give in to emotions. To whoever created this, well guess what.

You suck.

In this world where human devour each other, there is no place to hide. No space to show weakness. You fall, you get swept away and you'll lose. It's a tough world we're living in. Where corruption rules logic, where dirty cash values more than a human life. People preach about love and peace, yet, I see no difference. Sayings like emotions are what keep us human is non-existant any longer. Emotions were what drove that man to abuse his family. Emotions were what drove that girl to jump off the bridge. Emotions were what made human do the unthinkable. If that's the case, then why are we born with these burdens? They're nothing but clouds for our judgments. Blindfolds of our rationality. They're excuses for our mistakes. And yet, they're also the sentiments that human beings hold on to. The cause, they said, to their lives.

I can't say. I don't understand. Just like the human brains, it's an enigma. A riddle that cannot be solved but still makes it a subject of interest. Someday, I wish to understand. To comprehend the need for such fragile links of our lives when there's a lot more out there that's stronger, and yet not treasured just as much. I want to understand.

So that one day, I can learn to live with them too.

Wednesday, 12 May 2010

'tis be an emotional insight

There's nothing in this world, that makes us more human than our own lies and secrets.

Crashed and ended up skipping school today. I'm pissed at myself. And that feeling has left me cranky. I don't like this. Not at all. And what's worse, it has been like this since I don't even know when. Days had passed and I'm filled with nothing but this spiteful feeling of being pissed. And there's no one to blame but myself. I'm pissed at no one but myself.

And it sucked.

Some way down the road, I lost a part of me. What's left, is just remnants of what I used to be. And a pride, an ego that I held above everything else. They say pride is a sin that destroys its owner from the inside. I guess they were right. Even if it destroys me, it is the one thing I will never relinquish. Because I don't want to be seen. I don't want to be understood. I don't want people to see what I really am because I know how messed up it is. In the end, I'm just a coward. Someone who puts up a strong facade just because of their own pride.

I'm just someone, who takes refuge in solitude. A lone soldier in life's battlefield.

With great minds, comes great responsibility. People might think that geniuses are lucky to have their intelligence. But what they don't know, was how burdenful it could be. A simple mistake, a simple pressure drive us insane more than it would other people. A small speck of darkness can turn our whole world around. Our minds are darker and more dangerous. They don't understand this. No one does.

Tuesday, 4 May 2010

Killing essays would mean killing yourself

"You're tall, do you play basketball?"
"Oh hey you're short, do you play mini-golf?"

I read this somewhere and it's stuck in my head. Because I was just asked the same question the other day and I was tempted to answer that. Not to say I'm tall per se. My height is only 168cm. I feel short.

I feel like digging a hole somewhere and bury myself in there. Factual essays are harder to write than fictions and is just another form of brain torture. I swear, there's a streak of sadism in their heads. Back in those days, 360 seemed a lot. And I'd write 700 words with ease. But that was fictional. Facts are limited. They're confined in a box, packed, condensed, concise. Facts can't be altered. They're there, true and proven so. Facts can't be elaborated. The words to describe them are those that revolved around them, limited and uninteresting.

Facts are what built the reality. Harsh, cold and dull.

And so is our lives. They're facts. Dull, concise and a bore. There's nothing you can do about it. It's not a fairytale, and it never will be. The pens in our hands, the quilt that we use to write our stories, are just as plain as the rest of us.

Face it. Reality checks are a pain in the ass. But I guess we have no choice but to live with it.

...3000words essay. Damn you.

Saturday, 24 April 2010

First ceremonial post

In which, I feel that the fonts on the site to be magnificently huge and a tad bit annoying. It's possible to reduce the font for personal viewing, but I'd hate to tamper with IE's zooming, which will, in turn, affect every single page that I view on it. Why tamper when there's only one small bug?

Anyway, got this account because I fail at keeping up with LJ. And that journal is private to LJ users, hence the no-view at all of my posts. So I figured I'd keep personal life matters here. It makes me feel like I'm leading a three way life - fandom at LJ, roleplay at AIM, and personal here - but who cares.

I still think that the formatting and HTML at LJ is neater. Just saying.