Spinning fairytales from past memories enveloping pale moonlight in silky waters. there is no stopping when you let your words flow. use a punctuation and just carry on. its's like a marathon you see. you sun and then you stop to scratch your knee and you lose that momentum forever. forever is as long as three minutes but it still feels like forever.

i found aural sanctuary in the dark minutes of the night. the year is ending, but aren't i still allowed to continue trudging on in this musical menagerie, picking the sounds that course well through my veins like crimson honey laced with euphoria? Yes I believe, I still own that right.

So here is my new discovery. Please have a listen and good day.

foreign landscapes cultivating propagated intelligence lead to unfamiliar disjointedness. pages filled with flashes of yellow, pink, orange; denoting potential tribulations.

i dont belong here. but i yearn academic fortification.

i don't belong here, but there's no where else to go but forward.

Life is.. hard.

This isn't a letter of complaint nor is it a rant. Alright I lied, it is a poor excuse to whine and commence on a tirade of emotions through a blogging platform that has been forgotten by most. I've been allowing myself to lose focus. Like now. I'm at work and yet here I am. But writing nowadays is like capturing smoke in your hands. You grasp at it with all the determination you can muster, and it dissipates nonchalantly in into thin air. You're only left with agitation stamped in the furrows of your eyebrows and your hands reeking of smoke.

I sleep late and wake up early. I seem to be having lots of dreams of being fired or turning up late for work. I wear my contact lenses for too long and my eyes burn for the whole day, the next day. I don't wear makeup to work. I don't comb my hair. I come home late because I want to avoid all of my mom's enqueeries. Yes the type is on purpose.

I know, i know.

Suck it up. Tomorrow is a better day. Positive things happen to positive people. Miracles happen everyday. There's always a rainbow after the rain. There's a silver lining behind every dark cloud. A man is happy so long as he believes that he is happy.

etcetera etcetera etcetera.

But, it doesn't change anything you know. Life is still... hard.

My hair is flying behind me. My feet are going to the pace of a drum and bass song. It has some clapping in it.

Perhaps you know it.
But most probably you don't.

I'm running away, can you tell? I'm running away from Responsibility, and she is a persistent bitch. I've run for quite a bit and I don't seem to hear any running steps behind me. I turn to look back and I see that she's out of sight. I slow down my pace. Tie my hair back, drink some water. Wipe the sweat from my neck and face.

Then out of nowhere the Consequence Brothers pounce on me and I'm sent tumbling to the ground. They smash my face to the gravel and they kick me in the gut. I'm coughing out blood and they don't seem to care. In fact their faces only have a stoic expression on them. No sign of pleasure nor regret. They don't even seem to show any sign of fatigue.

In fact each kick and punch seem to have a beat to them. Kind of like my drum and bass song.

I guess they know it too.

I don't want to be an adult anymore.

I have been financially independent since I was 17. I could have continued studying like everyone my age but there I was earning Money. The more hours you put in, the bigger the number in your bank account. It was a good feeling. All those shades of blue, red, green and purples. Those colours gave a good feeling. I was also never that book-smart. I was never much of an academic person. Well, I suppose it's 40% psychological, 40% determination and 20% intelligence. So that's 20% + 10% + 10% for me, respectively. That's not even a C. I've failed even before picking up a textbook.

But the real reason I don't want to be an adult, is really because I don't want to be responsible for my actions anymore. I want to point fingers. I want to push the blame and be free to do whatever I want. I want my parents to give me a steady four figure monthly allowance. I don't want to pay for my bills anymore. I want to stay out late as long as I can and not receive a single phone call after 11pm. I want to be able to date anyone I like. I want to live up to the expectations of anybody. I don't want to reply emails and create proposals. I don't want to be obligated to do anything that might require a follow up. I dont want to be obligated, period.

So right now I sound like a brat. But you see I'm not a brat. I can't even qualify to be a brat. I never ask for anything from my parents because I feel guilty and because I know I might eventually need to re-pay them back in some form or another. My parents don't buy me gifts. Not even on my birthday. But I have a roof over my head, clean water supply and a bed to sleep on. I suppose I'm privileged in that sense. I have basic necessities I don't have to fight for. Okay correction. I still feel like I need to earn it somehow. Because apparently coming home late more than three times a week constitutes myself as treating the home like a hotel.

So I wish I was spoilt. I wish I was a brat.
Because I don't want to be an adult anymore.

I guess I'm one of those that jump on bandwagons a little too late.
Always idling nearby, peeping over never really running when everyone else is in a mad race.
Then I'm given these two precious gifts of time and full internet access.
Next thing I know, I'm frantic in the race. I'm yelling letting everyone know the exhiliraion of the wind in my face, the excitement this wagon gives me. All the while, everyone else looks on with their 'been-there-done-that' faces. I don't really care. I have my hair in my face and mouth from all the grinning and pleasure. I don't see why I should care.

The best thing about my job is finding music that I've never dreamt of. Experiencing these amazing sounds that create dreamscapes of vast technicolour proportion. See, this is not what my job requires. I only have the priviledge of having this time, because i have to wait for clients to respond, or the creatives to get back to me. So in this waiting process I choose to make myself busy. Busy filling my ears with wondrous beautiful sounds.

but it's lovely. ever so lovely.

your writing is beautiful.
you've disappeared completely and i suppose it is my fault, for being foolish enough to believe that we were good friends and that i made a significant impact on your life. i supose i was disposable. you have a boyfriend and you have your school and you have your job that you are so immersed in, because i know it gives you an intangible satisfaction that not many jobs are able to offer. i know i'm being too sentimental. but. i miss you, nonetheless.

*

i left my old job. the one that i dragged myself to everyday. the one that denied any shred of ingenuity and talent that i have. the one that was a banal conundrum to my very existence. the one that gave a me a salary more than anyone my age that i knew, but provided no trampoline or any form of jumpstart to my future career. then now i'm looking for a new job. that's normally the case. but then. i realize. i have absolutley nothing to my name. i have no accomplishments, nothing published. zilch experience in the industry that i am aiming to work in. all those years in retail leading to abso-fucking-lutely nothing. i am the scum beneath the earth's crater wanting to grow grass when all these years i've been tending to a fiery pit, hoping that it could be chalked up for some "experience" brownie points.
wait, why did i join the green star army again? oh yes. the yusof ishaks.
it all boils down to how many printed papers you get of a dead malay president you can land in your hands.

But i haven't given up all hope.
well, at least not yet.

It's been awhile now hasn't it.

When I complained about the prosaic nature of this routine I succumb to, life decided to throw me a curveball in my relationship.

But guess what.

I'm going to make it through. So in your face!

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