Snooze. Snooze. Snooze. One wonders sometimes why I even set an alarm in the first place. I blink, the familiar midday shades of green color the room, sunlight through my curtains. Familiarity comes into focus. My friend Federico once said ‘Life kicks random shit at me so I gotta kick back.’ I, on the other hand, collect random shit in life and organize them into cute little piles to display around my room.
There’s the bookshelf divider that has rows of books, arranged by category, alphabetically. The racks of CDs, also arranged by category, alphabetically. The pictures, the crazy amount of pictures of people I’ve come across. People that at one time or another have meant something to me. The knick-knacks; little decorative items from Indonesia and McDonald’s Happy Meals. Piles of cushions on my always colorful bedsheets.
Everything out in the open. Everything for everyone to see.
I can’t think of anything I want to do within my means that I haven’t already done. When I was younger I was a theatre brat; I danced surprisingly pretty well, I acted and diva-ed like the rest of them, I could (and still can) sing. They even sent me to the US when I was 12. There’s a picture of my foster family and I in Arizona to document that brief moment. I even acted in a made-for-tv movie, the subject of which shall never be brought up again. I performed for Agungs and Dato’ M back when he was still the PM.
Stretching lazily, I pick up my tattered copy of Kitchen Confidential and read a few pages.
I’ve done taekwondo, I’ve joined the police cadets. I’ve been an Interacter, now I’m a Rotaracter and I plan to be a Rotarian once I hit 30. I’ve volunteered at the animal shelter, helped out people with learning disabilities. I’m well-trained in housewife duties thanks to the mother: I can cook, I know how to clean, I actually like sewing and crafts of the like. I’m also immensely fascinated with math, physics, chemistry. I believe in a higher power, though maybe not necessarily God. I read, I write. I can muck around with photography and art and get by. I’m in architecture school and I’m not even going to begin to explain to you the amount of things we need to learn, even as a lowly diploma student.
Mmm, that’s enough Tony for now. Should I put my glasses on..?
And let’s not forget music. I live, breathe and I swear will die by it. I’ve played the piano since I was six, picked up the cello ten years later. I even teach now, proving true that saying that those who can’t do, teach. I can’t go a day without song. I wish I’ve gone to more concerts, rock or classical but I’m just a victim of circumstance (Plastilina Mosh and The Faint will never come to Malaysia, Alia). There isn’t a genre of music I’m uninterested in, just specific artists within those genres. Give me American bluegrass, give me Icelandic post-rock, give me French hip-hop. I can handle more.
Oh, look at the time. There’s laundry needing sorting, kitchen needs to be tidied. Move, woman, move.
I apparently have a brain for school, or so my teachers and lecturers exhaustively point out. Year after year their frustration with me grows ten-fold. I slacked off for years in public school and managed to get out with decent grades. I don’t focus, they say. I could do whatever I want to, they say. But I am, don’t you see? Though my fate of tumbling into architecture school is most probably the ass-kicking I deserve; design studio doesn’t treat procrastination very kindly.
Are those the cats meowing? They need food. And their litter trays cleaned. Some fuzz therapy first thing in the morning (!) ain’t so bad.
Seen the world? Some of it. I’ve been to the States, I’ve been to Europe, I’ve been to Australia, I’ve been around South East Asia. I want to go to Latin America before I die and tolerate a mug of beer for the sake of going around Argentina with aforementioned Federico and my friend Maryam (for there is no word near perfect enough to describe her and I say ‘tolerate’ for I am horrible with alcohol) And yes, I love my friends. The girls from high school whom know me better than anyone else, the LJ crowd who entertain me endlessly, even the people in college who keep me sane. And yes, it pains me to say it, but my family.. flawful as they are, I dare not imagine life without them, it’d be too quiet. Too boring. I’ve fallen in love too, accepted, rejected. I’ve kissed and been kissed, in the rain and under the stars. I’ve held hands, run several bases. I still however go gaga over the odd celebrity, mostly because I can never be satisfied with what I can get out of the relationships I deserve because it’s easier to dream of your prince than it is to actually find him.
On second thought…
This probably is a crusade to show off my life to you and I don’t blame you for thinking that. Modesty isn’t exactly my virtue. Neither is patience, tact, diligence, responsiblity or discipline, but I digress. I can’t help it; at the end of the day, at the beginning of the day (regardless of what time I actually wake up), I love life. I love the randomness, I love that there might be karma, I love that great and horrible things happen. I love every single beautiful soul and blithering idiot that I’ve ever crossed paths with, from the best lecturer in world Mr Feisol to that skank back when I was twelve who spread malicious gossip about me (I did not go to the States in your place you twit, who would believe that you passed up an opportunity like that?) (I also sometimes hold grudges)
Oh fuck, here come the thoughts.
I know now though, really and truly, that’s it’s not particularly the people. It’s not any singular event. It’s not any of the things that I’ve learnt specifically. I’m simply in love with love. And I’m in love with life. So when they beat me down, it’s not anyone or anything that I’m angry at. Not even myself. I’m just sad that love and life failed me. Because nothing hurts more than the things you love letting you down.
Every day I think of these things; I think of the gracious beauty and brutal hardness of everything. I think of what happened yesterday, last week, month, year, sometimes lifetime (for I have been born before, but we’ll save that for another time). Then I reverse it, and think of what life might be like tomorrow, next week, month, year. Too many people have said that I think too much. I must say I think so too. I also talk too much. I remember reading somewhere that sometimes talking too much masks having nothing to say. I say plenty when life lets me down, which is fairly often, and it’s cathartic. My life, like my room, possessions and thoughts, is for everyone to see.
Every day, I kick off the covers, go downstairs to feed the cats, and wonder what life might throw at me that day. If it’s great, I hope I’ll catch it. If it’s not, I know I’ll catch it and hopefully lob it to someone else. Every day I pick up something new to be passionate about, to be obsessed over, to dissect in my head. What would it be today, I have no clue. In the meantime? I’m just going to hit the snooze button again.
It’s way too early to be thinking.
