458: The Politics of Love

458: The Politics of Love

O let me forget how boring and difficult the politics of love are, how tiring and complex the dance is to fall in love and stay in love.

How can I love others when I have difficulty loving myself? I can barely take care of myself; how can others expect me to take care of them? It is a difficult facade to weave and hold. I’m tired and I don’t want to see anyone. Whenever did I become an introverted recluse? I cannot necessarily pinpoint the exact moment in time; perhaps during exam period, or realising that I have taken too many tokens of affection and felt nothing, no pleasure in taking, no pleasure in giving. I feel alive only when I am at my saddest, deeply reflecting, yearning for spontaneous coffee dates, watching the water by the pier in the warm darkness. I miss what I want, but cannot have.

Are promises of love I already have what I truly want? If I am even asking this question, why do I bother holding onto them if I don’t want what I have? Am I cursed to never be completely satisfied, always holding out for something better, wanting the greener grass on the other side?

I’m terribly afraid of rejecting and being rejected. Although I am more used to being the rejected, the dejected, all sorts of things. I am tired of playing a game where the outcome is a definite win or loss for me. Where I was once the pleasure seeker, the thrill seeker, pursuing a hedonistic lifestyle, I wish for some peace in this difficult life. It seems impossible.

I feel so dead inside. I’d like to feel alive again, but have no idea how. I seem to be missing something in my life. I am still pining for the past. I find it hard to find what is missing from all that I have experienced and known, although I have a vague idea of what it could be. The finish line never seems to be in sight, just check points that I can’t necessarily save at.

I’m tired of searching for what I don’t have, but deeply crave very much. I try not to do it so much that it wears me out, but being involved in the politics of love exhausts me. Relationships are so much hard work, even more so with someone I don’t care about as much as myself.

I guess I should say no.

 

~ Serendipitous

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457: Hiatus

457: Hiatus

If I had been told, maybe around graduation 243 days ago, that I wouldn’t make it into dental school (for now) and would be suffering with possible depression in a foreign city surrounded simultaneously by beauty and horror…

I probably would have cried. I know I was frustrated when I didn’t make it into any, but found out I made oral health school purely because the scores required for it were so low. So I moved cities and lost my support network, had to rebuild a new one, albeit unsuccessfully, and am studying something I love. But I am trying again for dental school, with the thought in mind that I will probably be even more depressed, but hey, what gives, this is my dream career.

I realise my last post was in January, on January 5, two days before I nearly died of alcohol poisoning at a stranger’s house. I had a stormy, complicated romance of sorts for three months before I was forced to give it up due to new complications such as moving cities and realising I had fallen in love on the last day we met. Yikes. Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about everything that has happened since my last exam of high school. Looking back on my blog, it’s almost like I’ve missed so much of my own life. Not to mention that I’ve had about a hundred new throwaway email followers (my inbox is full of them). I really wish I would just close this blog and study for my finals (that are in less than two weeks), but right now, I just feel so depressed and feel the need to reflect.

I miss the summer. Summer is my favourite season. The last three summers have been incredibly memorable. Summer of 2015 was mostly spent scrolling endlessly on Vine, watching looping memes that had sound. Summer of 2016 was mostly spent poring over lines of classical Latin when I was not seeing my ex, and when I was not poring over Latin, I was going on dates, sightseeing in my own city with someone I loved very much (although now I barely remember any of those dates, just the one where we were walking in the park and on the tip of my tongue was, “I want to break up”, seemingly out of nowhere, and I wish we broke up in that park right then and there because the pain dragged on unnecessarily for about four months). Summer of 2017, best summer of my life thus far. Going out six days out of seven, inadvertently checking to dos off my post-HSC bucket list that I had written maybe a year or two in advance and added to occasionally. I made new friends. I saw new people. I…had the most whirlwind, most complicated of relationships, as far as casual relationships would go, as far as I had gone with casual relationships. Truthfully at the time, I was not exactly new to the dating scene. I was very sociable, in need of contact and communication with all kinds of people. I recall feeling lonely and unwanted if I did not have the chance to be extroverted. In the summer, he was so great that I wanted to write a whole blog post about him. I can only imagine that it would have been so blinded by love, by an impossible possibility that I am actually sort of glad that I didn’t write it, because I knew what I was getting myself into at the start of that summer.

That summer, I had very little reason, if any, to be sad or depressed. High school was over, I was going to uni, whatever. I was pretty disappointed to see that I didn’t make dental school, but I kind of knew it was going to happen and that one way or another, I would get in some other time. Maybe next year, maybe in three years, who knows. I was quite disgruntled that I had not fallen in love with anyone, as I enjoyed and relished that feeling so much in the summer before. I chose to move to a city that was about ninety minutes away from my home city so that I could attend oral health school.

Goodness me, I guess that’s where the depression began. Leaving behind my old life, my friends, my family. This was the plan all along, but some days, more often than not now, I regret that I didn’t stay back to do some shitty degree. It turned out that I was the youngest in my degree (I was eighteen at the time, but now I’m nineteen! Wow, my blog missed my nineteenth)…and my closest friend right now is about a decade older than me. So I pretty much have no friends my age except my online friend that I have now met in real life quite frequently. Expresso depresso…

The city itself is nice. There is a great nightlife (yes to staying out until 5am), awesome drinks (hello 7-standard zombie cocktail) and pretty good food, I’d say. However, I live about thirty minutes away by train from the heart of all things exciting and I am living in the equivalent of…I shouldn’t say. Terribly flat roads, you have to have a car to get around.

The freedom of living alone is fantastic but burdening. I have so much more responsibility for myself now, and some days I enjoy it, other days I resent it. I love what I’m studying, but knowing that I won’t get to study endodontics (which feels like my passion) is a bummer.

I think I’m trying to summarise everything now, so maybe I will detail everything slowly in future posts when I get around to them, maybe after exams. I haven’t written in a journal or anything creative since the summer because I’ve been so busy studying and trying to feel normal even though I know most of the big adults in my course still look down on me as a baby that graduated high school and barely knows anything about the real world. I don’t miss high school, but I do miss being around people my age.

 

~ Serendipitous

455: It Has Been So Long

455: It Has Been So Long

It has been so long since I wrote something for my blog. It’s almost like I abandoned it. But I have to keep to my quota¬†of at least 5 posts a month. Even more of them next year, but still. So here it is. Even though I am writing on my phone, and not really thinking about what I would normally write if I had been sitting down in a “romantic” place.

The posts become more and more intermittent, and with each new one once in a while, they deteriorate more in quality. I feel sorry for myself that my writing skills may have dulled a little, but my ability to make new memories and preserve them with photos, stories, dreams…they are still as sharp as the first day I set up this blog.

One day I hope to write a book. I am trying to follow the train of thought that came before this, but one day I hope to write a book that is a culmination of my experiences, of the human experience, a celebration of human lives, our lives, all unavoidably intertwined with each other. I want to preserve the experience, the privilege, the power of our five senses that we take for granted everyday (yes, I know we have more than five, but I’ve always written with the main five in mind). I want to preserve every memory, the joy, the happiness, the melancholia, the pain, the phantasmagoric realisation of how simultaneous the presence of mundanity and beauty in our lives is, how gorgeously romantic yet grossly misunderstood and misrepresented our own memories and nostalgia can be to others. I keep speaking of a novel, but how can I be writing a novel if all I do is work in the daytime and party when the sun sets? It is difficult to say. Inspiration comes and goes. Perhaps the most difficult thing to say is that I have, in a way, almost forgotten about my desire to write. I feel the shame in me rise to extraordinary heights, the self-beration, the spiritual self-flagellation, for how could a torn and lost soul misplace the need for preservation, the need to be heard, the need to be read, the need to be beautifully appreciated in an almost bemused yet serene way? Although now that I have finally admitted to myself my wrongdoings both in writing and in thought, I only feel but a lingering residue of remorse. One day they will, no, we will technologically advance to the point that we can have a dictaphone for our thoughts, a private dictaphone for which we can record and play back these endless streams of consciousness, save the potential blockbusters, groundbreaking bestsellers, tap into wells of creativity that have-more often than not- dried up with forgetfulness. One day I’ll be able to stop forgetting my dreams while I’m awake, recall them in perfect clarity rather than reciting summaries of summaries, rather than reducing these cinematic motions to nothing more than a few shaky frames, rather than letting thick cobwebs of fallibility shroud them in forever lost archives in the endless recesses of my mind. One day, one day…I think this, I walk home in the semi-dark, thinking of typing the words as they come to me, instead of waiting for the perfect opportunity to sit down and let the creativity flow, because there is never a perfect opportunity, just as there is never the perfect moment to break up, just as you can never be fully ready for what is to come, but ready enough. Walking, thinking, bus rides, train rides, they will be my “ready enough” times. The next time I unknowingly board a train of thought, I’ll run with it. Up and down the corridors, cross each car, bump into strangers, mutter empty apologies under my breath, chase the words as I think them, as they pop into my brain, as they run away from me as soon as they appear.

Now I listen to the crickets chirp, the breeze blow gently, my slow music, walk slowly home, about two minutes away if I continue at this pace, and I feel this insanely lucid rush of creativity stagnate just a little, a car rushes past, it is the eve of the eve of New Year’s Eve, when I cross the road in about twenty seconds, the magic will be lost, the Fantasia that plays in my ears and my mind, no cars come by now, the street is quiet except for my footfalls and the crickets. Now I am five seconds from home, and the magic dies as I exhale. When I look up from my screen, it’s as if I teleported here, having not caught a bus or train home, or whatever it was. Like I’ve been in a trance, and must return to the obligations that occupy my life when I do not pursue the hedonistic lifestyle…

~ Serendipitous

452: Hedonism

452: Hedonism

So I have been indulging in this philosophy for a while, ever since the exam block was over. I’ve lost all sense of discipline and enjoy spending more money than I earn. It’s a very interesting experience, to say the least.

I’ve been lost in a haze of cycling pursuing interests, watching films, listening to different kinds of music, meeting curious people, not writing down my memories and cool things that have happened to me. More or less want to start a bullet journal but have other commitments in life as well?!

It’s actually terrible. I want to tell you (and my future self) about all the emotional and physical rollercoasters I’ve been on, being young. That’s the best part. I know I’m young and trying to max out all the things I can do as a young person. Flashing my driver’s licence proudly when I’m asked for ID because I’m buying alcohol with friends, or staying out a bit later than I usually would have for studying, little things. And trying to be a responsible adult, but watching all the numbers go down eventually. Sigh. And formals! How could I forget about formal? Those were fun. It was sort of awkward to see my not-really crush with a date he barely knew but whatever right? Young people do all sorts of stupid things, I guess. Heh.

Anyway I wish I could write more. I probably would, except the prospect of spending most of the night playing Minecraft or watching Star Wars or watching k-drama is too much. I should be doing the stuff on my daily to-do list, but I’m honestly so done lmao

 

~ Serendipitous

Fuck, how could I forget about talking about my novel? Didn’t go so well. I keep making a mental outline of what I want to say, but I keep forgetting, eurgh… oh well. It’ll work out. I’ll get a novel out at some point in my life.

451: Life after HSC

451: Life after HSC

Wow I was actually expecting to update a lot more often but I guess it didn’t happen. I’ve been really living. I’ve experienced so many emotions, tastes, lights, feels, everything. Overwhelming, overexciting my own senses, trying too many new things, still having a lack of sleep for fear of not being able to enjoy every moment of my 4 months of freedom with the most happiness and alertness. Ironic.

It’s fucking amazing. My novel has disintegrated so I’m just taking it slow at the moment. And getting closer to people I would have never had the chance to get close to if I hadn’t taken initiative to do so.

Anyway hit me back, just to chat, sincerely yours your biggest fan this is Stan

I’m going through an Eminem phase at the moment, so just streaming his songs all the time. Sigh. I should update with a proper flash fiction thing though. Like maybe an anthropology of my dreams.

 

~ Serendipitous

 

450: Freedom

450: Freedom

This is…4 days late, but I’m free! I have been using the freedom well to cultivate my new life. Sadly it has meant that I haven’t had much time to post on my blog. So what I’m thinking of doing is revamping the style and writing more poetry and flash fiction. Of course, I’m doing the NaNoWriMo and I am struggling to reach the word count (even though it’s been the first week). Sigh.

I love life now! I’m not depressed anymore (I think)! So yay there. I’m thinking of linking my Instagram to my blog, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.

Lots of lunches and fun activities with friends. I’m actually having a life.

 

~ Serendipitous

 

449: 99 Problems

449: 99 Problems

Sigh.

2 sleeps until freedom, but I have 99 problems on my plate. Life struggles, personal struggles, struggles struggles struggles…

Well, I am doing NaNoWriMo this year and I have a fairly good idea. Well, we’ll see how it goes. I guess this is an update from my life. Once I’m actually free I will be posting a lot more on my blog and just making it look nice.

 

~Serendipitous