It has been almost a year since I’ve touched this page. 324 days later and after reading all my previous posts, a bittersweet feeling lingers on.
I believed that blogging allowed me a platform for self-expression, for self-discovery, for self-understanding. But the truth is I’ve been so secretive of my ‘self’ that I felt vulnerable even being in the presence of strangers that I will probably never have the chance to meet.
I have no idea what brought me back here, but it’s probably because I don’t want to touch my piling work and I have just gone through the torturous Viper Challenge yesterday, which is currently inhibiting my movement. But being back here feels right. It feels safe. Though I am completely aware it is 95% not safe to be sharing my personal life out here in the open. What about vulnerability? Well, it’s been almost a year after all.
First things first, I think I would like to just recall the past and mention about the events that has happened in the blank space of the 324. Trust me, I am aware that it does not benefit you in any way, but I think it would for me. For some odd reason, even after outweighing the facts, I’m going to do it anyway.
I don’t quite remember which event happened in what month in 2014, but I know it’s in chronological order because I started journaling (ironically without the dates). So that’s a first:
I started journaling;
Well, it’s not quite journaling either, not in its original and natural diary structure anyway. And it wasn’t all words as you were to do with a diary. On the contrary, it’s filled with pictures, drawings, poems, quotes, verses, inspiring words from people and the, what I like to call it, hipster-wannabe-lines that has immensely brought me through life.
It is the dead honest truth when I say this helped save my life. It helped so much to be able to express myself in my truest form in this little book found lying around, unused and browning from a few Christmases ago. I would journal anytime I wanted, whenever I wanted. I didn’t care for consistency and therefore it didn’t become a burden that would eventually end up being given up. It holds the deepest, most vulnerable secrets of mine, written or drawn or coloured in a way that only I would understand. Because every stroke had its significance, every colour choice representing something or someone that has happened.
I believe it’s something I would do for years and all my life now, because it feels comforting whenever I’m doing it and it’s a good “memory book” for me to keep to see how far I’ve come. Most importantly, it ensures me the strength to how far I could go.
I started fasting;
No, it’s not for dieting purposes. In a matter of fact, I did not lose any weight the whole year and though there were fluctuations, I remained the same. So much for New Year resolutions. I started fasting for various reasons: the sake of trying it out, for religious purposes, for my country and for myself.
I’ve never fasted before this and starting off with the 40 days fasting before Easter (Lent, if I’m not mistaken?), it was an eye-opener for me. Though it is not usually practiced in my denomination, it brought me closer to God in prayer.
I fasted for my country because it was a mournful year for us. I’m from Malaysia, home of the MH370 and MH17 tragedies. God knows why and how it happened but I know that His ways are not our ways. And I am aware that I have the least to no right to say anything to the families affected and I can only imagine the pain and suffering that they are going through from their losses. But I would just like to say that the country mourns with you; I mourn with you. And in the recent one year commemoration of MH370, our hearts will still be with you until the day they are found. Sending you all my love.
I fasted for myself because as a human, I was destroyed and I was desperately begging for ease and rescue. And I knew that only God could revive me and only He could pull me into the light. As stupid and cliché and rolling-eyes it would sound, it’s because I fell in love. And it was the most destroying thing that has ever happened to me.
I fell in love;
Yes, I have stuck the “STUPID” label on my forehead. But love comes in such unexpecting ways and it marks its arrival so severely that it leaves scars and destroys everything in its way, and that includes the walls you put up to keep yourself safe.
It was incredible and it brought out the best and worst in me. It showed me sides I never thought I had and reflections that I could never mend. I was so attacked by love that my masks lost its effectiveness. I was terrified and lost and scared and my breaths were short whenever I thought about him. But whenever I was with him, all that fear disappeared. I would feel fearless and found and happy and beautiful.
I wouldn’t pour out the entire story now because it would take a few pages. Maybe next time, if you’re up for it? But just a summary of it so far: we’ve known each other since we were kids, we were always together but I never really took notice of him in that way because he was always the quiet one and I, the of course, extroverted overly happy one with the torn soul. I never told him about my feelings and he never clarified his with me. We were never together and we are not together. I don’t think it’s reciprocated, though I’m still not sure. I am about 100% sure it’s unrequited but I’m 100% sure it’s not either. Perhaps this is why I was so messed up by it and why 65 pages of my journal is about him.
I started writing poetry;
Perhaps they are not the most legit of poetry, form and structure wise. I take Literature in English and it ought to have made me particular about the technicality of a poem. For that I am truly sorry to Shakespeare and his gang of Elizabethan poets for defying this exquisite form of self-expression. And also to the current modern poets and others alike, I am so so sorry.
I’m still contemplating whether I should post them because they are very much amateur-standard. I’m just going to start with posting my very first one. It was for my Lit assignment before we even started getting into the groove with poetry. I was required to write it in Spenserian form but I think I messed up one of the syllable counts or something. Nonetheless, I don’t want to change it because this was it in the rawest form. Yes, it does have a Taylor Swift feel to it because I was listening to Love Story when I wrote it (devoted Swiftie here). Please do judge me. I entitled it “Sonnet 1” because I was trying to be cool so please ignore that I didn’t know sonnet numbering is for a sequential storyline thing. Anyways:
Far away long a fairytale dream,
Violet bats the eye of peculiarity.
Vast how it draws far the depths to it’s gleam,
Closer ye draw unfold curious mind see.
So near to the breath of that breathing plea
As petals dance red to fiery roses.
Touch and run, to tower of safety tree!
Or fall your knees the trance of hypnosis.
No white horse nor ballgowns, no prince exists.
Look! Showers the sky contain not its zeal.
Soaked with sheets of blue goodbye, the heart twists,
To fade to distance, my Achilles heel.
This fragile heart I surrender when due,
This leap of faith hope I later not rue.
Please share your thoughts with me.
I had an intervention.
This kind of continues on from that tragic love story I was talking about earlier. I went into this depressive phase for a few months because I was going through all these pain and I never let a single word about it slip through my lips. All my life, I never told anyone about my problems apart from homework and all that unimportant jazz. I would ensure everyonearound me that I was fine and I have never been better when honestly, my soul was about to die.
Don’t get this wrong, I love getting to know people and conversing with them, I love being the one that lights up the room and being the one that everyone can depend on. I genuinely care for others and I would run on a limp to ensure that they are safe and happy and encouraged and loved and there is peace. But somewhere along the lines, I wanted so much to ensure that everyone was cared for, I stopped even talking about the surfaces of my problems. I wanted to do so much for the people around me that I stopped letting them do the same.
All throughout high school, my close friends would ask why was my life so perfect and why was I so strong. Perhaps it was just because I didn’t want anyone to “waste their time” on me, because I felt that there could be more important things to worry for. I would always just pray about it because we should always tell God our problems and surrender everything to Him right? I knew that God would make it all better and I thought that I only needed to depend on Him and it was enough just telling Him.
I became bitter and completely torn from this love that I experienced and I became so desperate for the pain in my heart to ease that I started to fast too. I started tearing during car-rides and skipping mealtimes. I laid in bed more and laid in the dark more. I would sob myself to sleep and grasp a blanket over my mouth so no one would hear. My family started noticing it and though many unconvincing times I ensured them I was fine, I worried them even more day by day.
Until one night when I was at my most broken, God spoke to me. It wasn’t that I heard a whisper or a loud command. But just as my soaking eyes were closed and I was once again praying for the pain to be removed, a line of words just flashed across my vision. It said:
“You were meant to help and be helped.”
And I wrote it into my journal. After that I understood. My devotion for that night was about the loved ones that God placed in my life and how one of their purposes, like mine, was to encourage and help people and we are to do life together. I wanted to do life with so many people that I stopped letting others to do life with me. I realised that I needed to tell someone. I was immensely difficult for me as crazy as it may seem but I did. I started small, telling one friend from different groups of friends I had. So, one from college, one from church and one from high school. So I told 3 people in total.
And you wouldn’t believe how free I was. Not that it solved my problem, but it made it easier to deal with and it became less painful. Ever since then, I have told a few others and cried at how they cried. I was so thankful for them. I felt worthy of someone else’s care. God saved me but my loved ones were His tools.
Okay. Of course there is more to it and perhaps these are only introductions to topics that I may well get into, if the audience pleases of course. The details are what makes the stories alive and the lessons I’ve learnt through these stories are even more so.
I think I’ve written enough today and I feel that a craving has been satisfied. There are a few more events but perhaps I’ll save that for another day. And for persisting here for so long, I thank you, though I’ve forsaken you. I’ll try to do less of that.