lizi –

soundtrack: the trucks on the highway // thoughts: groggy and annoyed

it’s been a while since i’ve been online at 5am. i still remember the last time clearly, but i can’t remember when. once again i belong to the group of sad people who are either gaming or have nothing better to do at this time of the day. i’ve discovered that i like sleeping better. but now i’m awake.

its quiet, but i don’t think i know the meaning of quiet because even when there’s nothing around i can still hear the cars. i can still hear my typing and i can still hear the buzzing of my laptop. it’s like how we don’t know the meaning of dark, because of all the artificial lighting we’ve installed everywhere. just once, i’d like to know what it’s like to have one of your senses irreparable; the flick of a light switch defeats that struggle, but i’m sure the world would feel different.

everything is different because of all our developments, well obviously, because they’re all here to help us, but there are probably feelings we’ll never have anymore. not that i repent the loss of uncooked meat and smallpox; i’ll readily admit we’ve come a long way. but when you think back to it all, what was the point? a brief moment of glory for the inventor and then an eternity of people taking it foregranted. it’s like forward march, but every step gets easier, and the steps we’ve taken have been forgotten by the masses. only a select few remember. others begin mutating to suit the new things we’ve created, adjusting their lifestyle to include a motor vehicle and widening their efforts of consumption.

and the weirdest thing is this; i don’t really care. i’ve just adapted to everyone else caring.

but my fingers are freezing off and it has taken me longer to type this than i anticipated. i think i need breakfast.

 soundtrack: easier said than done; danny fernandez // thoughts: like an obsession

i think if the environment we live in is meant to symbolise our life, mine would be down in the dumps somewhere. seriously, my room is a freaking mess. you can’t walk from one side to the other without stepping on something apart from the floor, and there is no space to sit or work on (even though i have a chair, a couch and two tables). there are plastic water bottles everywhere because i aimed to recycle them but never took them out, and on top of all that are all the bundles of paper and work that i’m supposed to do.

i blame it on the maths textbooks; they’re taking up all the space.

but hey, at least i have tim tams.

i’ve mastered the idea of an ironic afterthought, don’t you think?

anyways, my problem is, evidently, that i don’t have enough space. and it’s not even singular.

apart from the problems duly exhibited in bladerunner (yes i’m still thinking about that movie), i’ve come across many other important issues. for example, hitler’s reason for invading countries was that he believed the germans were uber and should have more living space than anyone else. solution; kill the other people and take over their space, of course. it’s the biggest issue because we can’t expand it, even with our highly sophisticated technology; only move higher and higher away from the nature in an attempt to accommodate our needs.

yet i don’t think i’d care about nature if i had a highrise for all my stuff and a nice robot to keep it all in place.

she tosses and turns, like a log rolling down a waterfall, the hotness of the room drowning her in her bed. a myriad of thoughts rush through her head, keeping her from the sleep she longs for. the sheep escape from her mind, making way for the thoughts that are keeping her awake. every time they cross her mind, her heart beats faster and she rolls over in frustration. fuck. better get V tomorrow morning.

when laying awake at this time of the night, she keeps her eyes closed just in case. in case of what, she doesn’t know, but there has to be something unpleasant out there, lurking in the dark. she buries herself in the blankets, comforted by the suffocating feeling. it’s safe. if there’s any danger, at least it’s not from an outside factor. at least it’s from herself.

the floor opens up, throwing the bed and her blankets down into the abyss. entangled in her own trap, she can hardly move, and succumbs to the falling. it goes deeper and faster, until the force of gravity levitates her slightly, so she is no longer supported by the bed. and for a moment there’s a peaceful serenity. she doesn’t think of all the things that have gone wrong, or all the things that hurt. she thinks of nothing.

but then the alarm goes off, signalling another school day.

# go to another country apart from china

# be able to drive … properly

# go on a hot air balloon

# feel a sense of accomplishment

# write a novel

# write something other people want to read

# tell the people i bump into on the bus that it’s not my fault they’re too fat i can’t get past

# prove something to myself rather than to someone else

# live for a while in something close to a dream

# put my mother in her place

# stop listening to shitty emo music

# be remembered for all the right reasons

facts and conclusions from musings of a procrastinating mind

# we are not desensitised to things because of the internet; we’re more learned

# blogging makes me happy, maths does not; therefore i should blog more and do maths less?

# my ideal job is a novel critic, but no one wants to hear my biased bullshit, so i’ll just have to settle for something else

# people who can draw are extremely interesting to me

# the enigmatic guy isn’t as appealing anymore

# i never get period pain

# my parents donated $500 out of their goodwill to earthquake victims

# brave new world has a perfect society; i don’t understand why people call it a dystopic novel

# if everyone was happy, what would happy be?

# i dance in the shower to the music i hear in my mind

# i am going to fail my maths exam if i don’t go and study now

soundtrack: nothing matters // thoughts: money, please

i have been shocked by the amount of compassion the asian community has shown for those involved in the earthquake. not that i believe they don’t deserve it, just that i’ve never realised asians had so much compassion to spare. industrialisation and everything, you know? it dehumanises us.

this thought occurred to me when my sweet and loving mother said she felt sorry for these people and ran upstairs to borrow money from me so she could donate to such a worthy cause. now don’t get me wrong; i’m all for charity (i always buy the soft toy when they’re selling merchandise, consequently ending up with 2 bees, 3 daffodil bears and 3 red nose bears pearched up on my bookcase) but since when did chinese people donate to anything?! and… how will it get to the earthquake victims?

so i have no faith in asian people, sue me. it’s just that out of the two i’ve lived with my whole life, one has never cared about others outside their own little circle and has a very narrow minded way of thinking, and the other cannot express their care. in addition, my extended family is more self centred than my immediate family, and the ideas i have of the general asian population isn’t different to the earth population in bladerunner. god that text is getting to my head.

soundtrack: is on replay // thoughts: keep running in circles

i live in dread of what tomorrow brings.

actually, according to bladerunner (or my english teacher’s interpretation of it), we all live in dread of what tomorrow brings. the uncertainty of life fucks with us all; we are but puny humans in a world which does not need us. it is terrible not to be needed, especially by something you need so much. the constant questions we are left to ponder will never find what we deem to be a satisfactory answer, and we remain drifiting through these different types of confusion for the rest of our lives.

that is, of course, unless you’re unbelievably stupid.

so today, admist all my casual wonderings came a few new questions. the normal questions have all been asked; what is the meaning of life? what happens when we die? will eating this make me fat? etc. i have advanced into a new era. my big question is this: do you grow hair when you’re in a coma? (god, that was major bathos. (lol pun))

maybe, because there is someone that can answer my question, it does not match with the great puzzles of humanity, but it puzzles me nevertheless. yet the insignificance of such a simple question is overwhelmed by all the current events which surround us; the events the media deem newsworthy and report to us; things such as the earthquake.

and although i acknowledge that there are extremely sad things happening on this planet we share, my human instinct can’t help but take over and view these people as completely insignificant in the light of what will happen to my selfish being within the next few days. i have no time nor emotion to spare for others with a fate so horrific compared to my own. but i have time sufficient to write a blog.

re-evaluation of values and character?

maybe. but not yet.

for every dream, there is a reality. for every precious moment, there is a regret. yet the reality of these regrets are not recognised until it’s too late.

he’s walking towards the light in my dreams. there’s no long tunnel filled with dark emptiness, just a speck of light that he thinks will be better than anywhere else. the speck of light is in the opposite direction of me. driven by the possibility of a happy ending, he walks on.

like a black and white movie, the colours eventually blend and his outlines fade away. not even a shadow remains now, and the memories of characteristics and mannerisms are seeping out of my consious mind. i still dream, but when my mind is catapulted back to reality all i can do is remember. there’s a gaping hole in my life. i dig up some earth and attempt to fill it up, but it just falls into the never ending void.

it makes no difference.

i need to take the pictures off the walls of my mind. redo the furnishings. change my surroundings. but i can’t seem to refurbish my dreams.

soundtrack: why not me; varsity // thoughts: in quite a daze

should i stay, should i go; should’ve asked, don’t wanna know … who are you thinkin` about; shouldn’t kiss, shouldn’t tell; shoulodn’t leave without farewell … what were you thinkin` about?

a tim tam packet has nine tim tams, not ten. i know this because all nine are sitting in my stomach now, waiting to be digested. along with another half packet of chicken crimpy shapes i ate. i also ate lunch and dinner, so the next time you see me don’t be surprised if i’m a million times fatter.

because you’re stuck in my head like my favourite song, you put the scene on pause, it still plays on … it’s chapter three, it’s hard to breathe; the words are slowly fading … without you here, i get nowhere

my mind is quite numb at the moment because i watched this movie called wristcutters; a love story. i think the movie is trying to tell people not to kill themselves, but after watching it i think i’ve leaned that way a little bit more. it’s one of those movies that make you think, i think. i hated the ending though, because the main character who once believed he had nothing to live for gets lucky. love saves the day, and everyone gets a second chance. hate it, hate it, hate it.

could’ve been, could’ve had; how could you do that and not look back … you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t breathe; you couldn’t be sharing the same dreams with me

how come emo-ness is always associated with love now? why can’t someone be unhappy with their life because of something else? and why do those who are lucky enough to experience love make it all one big emo story?

what is it that keeps me hanging on to every word you say; what is it that keeps me holding on to you?

but hey, who am i to talk?

 soundtrack: six whole days; matt palmer // thoughts: still spinning

nothing ever goes according to plan. i planned to write a draft major work today. shouldn’t have expected so much. damn.

i was reading some people’s blogs about me today, which is kind of weird. i mean, sometimes i write about people too, but it’s never explicit. i don’t know if writing stuff about a person explicitly on the net is any better than hinting about who they are when you write about them and making it a mystery to the rest of the world. personally i never get the extremely subtle hints people aim at me, so maybe it’s hypocritical to expect the same of those who read my writing? is it a bad time to say that most of my writing has some meaning, some direction? maybe so.

however, sometimes it’s interesting to read about yourself, not in a conceited way, but like knowing what people think is good. if they think you’re awesome, be flattered. if they don’t, it’s just a blog. we’re only human.