I have a nasty habit of wearing my heart on my sleeve.
"I have a nasty habit of wearing my heart on my sleeve."
I say the wrongs things... a lot... I don't know why... sometimes I just say whatever comes to my mind... and it sounds so bad out of the context of my own thoughts...
Then I have to go and explain everything behind what I'm thinking... well... sometimes... because it sounds really freaking lame when I do...
Just lately I did something incredibly stupid... I broke like... rule 57 or something in the manual for saying things that should not be said. It's some obscure rule that no one ever remembers because it's so obvious and so... obscure?
I'm still not sure if it was a bad thing though... It probably would have built up inside me until I did it anyway. So it was somewhat of a relief to just get it over and done with.
But not the relief that comes when you've just had a nice cool drink of water after walking around in the sun, lost in an unfamiliar neighbourhood, but the horrible relief you get when you've just called a girl fat.
On one hand you're secretly hoping she'll lose weight and become all healthy and hotness... but on the other hand she'll probably hate you forever. And ever. And never ever talk to you again. And tell all her friends you are a fag. Both in the sense that you are homosexual and that you are a jerk. And most despicably, send her into a spiraling descent into madness and depression.
See part of the reason I'm so "honest" is that I don't give a damn what people think of me. My reputation means nothing to me. There are close to seven billion people in the world. I'm but the tiniest insignificant worm. But to some people, it is everything... and my words are often hurtful... or inadvertently cause pain.
And that to me is unforgivable. I hate hurting people.
It's a fine line between thinking of others, and self-hate.
Sometimes I'm just so selfish though... So focused on myself that I fail to see how my actions would affect others...
If anything bad came of this I'd never forgive myself...
I used to be such a quiet little kid. I never said anything, I just sat down with my best-friends and said... nothing. We didn't need to talk to be friends. Just being with each other was enough. We would find somewhere peaceful... as peaceful as a school canteen can get during recess... and just sit and eat... after we were done we would put our bowls in the wash tub and just sit back down and think. Maybe we'd discuss the things that crossed our minds, or share some particular insights for debate.
I guess that's why I always preferred hanging out with girls. Not for any other fact that it was quite nice just to sit down and look at each other while we ran through our own little mind worlds. Or we could play games which didn't require running and screaming. I remember my first ever friend when I went to primary school.
Since I was new she was looking after me and making sure I got to know the place well, Cheryl... or Cherrie as most people called her. Throughout the day I'd follow her all around the school and she'd tell me what each place was. I'd nod and smile and we'd move on. When I didn't understand what people were saying, she'd teach me what each phrase meant. We'd play knucklebones and hopscotch, or just sit at the benches and do homework. Since I didn't have a wallet, she'd lend me hers on my turn. One day we went to the "tuck shop" and got a wallet for me. It was green with turtles all over it. In class we sat together and I lent her my eraser and she'd lend me her pencil sharpener. We hardly ever talked, I guess in a way we never needed to. If she wanted something, she'd take it, if I wanted something, I'd take it. If I needed help, I'd ask and she'd help and vice versa. For the first two weeks my parents took me home to the hotel we were staying at, then I took the bus 3 home with her.
Gradually though, she preferred the company of her girl friends, and I was familiar enough with the school and how people spoke to get by myself. We were still friends, but now I hung out with a japanese guy. Inami I think was his name. But that was short lived, and I started hanging out with this guy called Kiat Yew. He was the reigning king of the table tennis tables but never really played much. He'd be "king" for so long that he'd get bored... or no one would want to challenge him anymore. So instead we ate fishball noodles and just watched the ants, played hopscotch or sat by the trees with a view of the canteen, hall, hopscotch, chinese chess and table tennis areas. We were a mismatched pair but somehow it worked. Naughty Peng Wei would join us on some days when his recess coincided with ours and I would listen to peng go on and on about nothing at all and kiat break down his arguments every time. Come to think of it, not much has changed...
The next year Cherrie was posted to a different class, and we lost contact. We'd still smile and say hi/bye as we past each other in the corridors, at tae kwon do, or on and off the bus. She was one of those friends that you just never really needed to confirm friendship with.
Years later I was playing in the neighbourhood park, and she came to play as well, we said hello, and it was like nothing had ever changed. It was that day that I realised that friendship isn't how much time you spend with a person, how much you say you love them, how much in common with them you have, how much you show your affection. Not the good times nor the bad times shared. It's that special bond between people who just understand; who just ... are. For a boy who had at most three friends who had lasted more than two years, it was the most heart-warming experience I could remember.
After that I must have seen her a total of four or so times after that. Mostly at french class. One day, eight years after we first met, she was waiting for her parents to pick her up and we were the last few left. In a way looking back, it was just like a movie cliche; the type that happens at the end of the movie and usually accompanied by a flash back to signify to the audience the significance of seemingly mundane actions. I'd just come out of my class, because my teacher was always late finishing her lesson...
I said hi and sat down on the bench beside hers. She smiled and said something. I can't remember what.
We watched the clouds go by until my mother arrived. She waved and I waved back. I've never seen her since.
I say the wrongs things... a lot... I don't know why... sometimes I just say whatever comes to my mind... and it sounds so bad out of the context of my own thoughts...
Then I have to go and explain everything behind what I'm thinking... well... sometimes... because it sounds really freaking lame when I do...
Just lately I did something incredibly stupid... I broke like... rule 57 or something in the manual for saying things that should not be said. It's some obscure rule that no one ever remembers because it's so obvious and so... obscure?
I'm still not sure if it was a bad thing though... It probably would have built up inside me until I did it anyway. So it was somewhat of a relief to just get it over and done with.
But not the relief that comes when you've just had a nice cool drink of water after walking around in the sun, lost in an unfamiliar neighbourhood, but the horrible relief you get when you've just called a girl fat.
On one hand you're secretly hoping she'll lose weight and become all healthy and hotness... but on the other hand she'll probably hate you forever. And ever. And never ever talk to you again. And tell all her friends you are a fag. Both in the sense that you are homosexual and that you are a jerk. And most despicably, send her into a spiraling descent into madness and depression.
See part of the reason I'm so "honest" is that I don't give a damn what people think of me. My reputation means nothing to me. There are close to seven billion people in the world. I'm but the tiniest insignificant worm. But to some people, it is everything... and my words are often hurtful... or inadvertently cause pain.
And that to me is unforgivable. I hate hurting people.
It's a fine line between thinking of others, and self-hate.
Sometimes I'm just so selfish though... So focused on myself that I fail to see how my actions would affect others...
If anything bad came of this I'd never forgive myself...
I used to be such a quiet little kid. I never said anything, I just sat down with my best-friends and said... nothing. We didn't need to talk to be friends. Just being with each other was enough. We would find somewhere peaceful... as peaceful as a school canteen can get during recess... and just sit and eat... after we were done we would put our bowls in the wash tub and just sit back down and think. Maybe we'd discuss the things that crossed our minds, or share some particular insights for debate.
I guess that's why I always preferred hanging out with girls. Not for any other fact that it was quite nice just to sit down and look at each other while we ran through our own little mind worlds. Or we could play games which didn't require running and screaming. I remember my first ever friend when I went to primary school.
Since I was new she was looking after me and making sure I got to know the place well, Cheryl... or Cherrie as most people called her. Throughout the day I'd follow her all around the school and she'd tell me what each place was. I'd nod and smile and we'd move on. When I didn't understand what people were saying, she'd teach me what each phrase meant. We'd play knucklebones and hopscotch, or just sit at the benches and do homework. Since I didn't have a wallet, she'd lend me hers on my turn. One day we went to the "tuck shop" and got a wallet for me. It was green with turtles all over it. In class we sat together and I lent her my eraser and she'd lend me her pencil sharpener. We hardly ever talked, I guess in a way we never needed to. If she wanted something, she'd take it, if I wanted something, I'd take it. If I needed help, I'd ask and she'd help and vice versa. For the first two weeks my parents took me home to the hotel we were staying at, then I took the bus 3 home with her.
Gradually though, she preferred the company of her girl friends, and I was familiar enough with the school and how people spoke to get by myself. We were still friends, but now I hung out with a japanese guy. Inami I think was his name. But that was short lived, and I started hanging out with this guy called Kiat Yew. He was the reigning king of the table tennis tables but never really played much. He'd be "king" for so long that he'd get bored... or no one would want to challenge him anymore. So instead we ate fishball noodles and just watched the ants, played hopscotch or sat by the trees with a view of the canteen, hall, hopscotch, chinese chess and table tennis areas. We were a mismatched pair but somehow it worked. Naughty Peng Wei would join us on some days when his recess coincided with ours and I would listen to peng go on and on about nothing at all and kiat break down his arguments every time. Come to think of it, not much has changed...
The next year Cherrie was posted to a different class, and we lost contact. We'd still smile and say hi/bye as we past each other in the corridors, at tae kwon do, or on and off the bus. She was one of those friends that you just never really needed to confirm friendship with.
Years later I was playing in the neighbourhood park, and she came to play as well, we said hello, and it was like nothing had ever changed. It was that day that I realised that friendship isn't how much time you spend with a person, how much you say you love them, how much in common with them you have, how much you show your affection. Not the good times nor the bad times shared. It's that special bond between people who just understand; who just ... are. For a boy who had at most three friends who had lasted more than two years, it was the most heart-warming experience I could remember.
After that I must have seen her a total of four or so times after that. Mostly at french class. One day, eight years after we first met, she was waiting for her parents to pick her up and we were the last few left. In a way looking back, it was just like a movie cliche; the type that happens at the end of the movie and usually accompanied by a flash back to signify to the audience the significance of seemingly mundane actions. I'd just come out of my class, because my teacher was always late finishing her lesson...
I said hi and sat down on the bench beside hers. She smiled and said something. I can't remember what.
We watched the clouds go by until my mother arrived. She waved and I waved back. I've never seen her since.
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