Now that I am at something of a crossroad in my life, I've found myself wondering lots of times about what I will eventually end up doing for the rest of my life. For about a year, I've enjoyed calling myself a researcher, carrying out several (mostly failed) experiments but haven't yet found the courage to commit to a career. I'm lucky enough not to be forced into a career, my parents are strong enough to just sit back and let me find my own way in doing something that I enjoy. But then, being the spoiled and privileged brat that I am, I'm like "K so what the hell should I do then?". Possibilities are endless now that I'm done with school. I like writing, I'd love to be a writer. But then, I like animals too, maybe I could be the next Jane Goodall and continue my ape research. But I also want to be a psychologist because that's why I signed up to study psychology in the first place. But I don't really want to spend the rest of my life listening to people's problems. I want to fix things. Which is why I really enjoyed my internship where I did humanitarian/political work because I felt like I actually had a hand in changing something. Decisions, decisions, decisions.
Literally everyone (parents, the internet, friends) say, "Just do what you like and stick to it". But if you like so many things, how do you stick to just one? So I guess the key is to find balance, and ultimately, the key to a good life (also according to parents, the internet etc) is a good balance between every aspect of your life. But yo, I'm 23. There's no such thing as balance. I'm only just learning that waking up at 11am and going to sleep at 3am is not balance, even though that worked while you were in college. I'm only just learning that one day everything around you seems sorted out but the next day, it can all fall apart because of one single fuck-up. One day you think you've figured out what you want to do with your life and the next day, something so beautiful catches your eye and you can't help thinking, "I'd love to do that too." And then a day after that, you think about your present life and realize how something else would be way more suitable, sensible and probably just as satisfying - you just haven't tried it out yet. How do you "balance" when everything around seems to be resting on a ball, not a box? At 23, you're only just starting to figure out this seemingly impossible balancing act and I can't help but feel that if anyone has their whole life planned out at my age, they probably haven't opened your eyes to the vastness and improbability of the world.
I applied for a job the other day at a company I really respect because all the company is built on is change. For the life of me, I can't find that "one" purpose of the company. I don't know if it's media or tech or education reform or lifestyle or whatever, but the one thing I do know is that they do... Lots of things. Which is essentially what my problem/strength (?) is - I don't know one thing I want to do so I want to do all of it. I don't know how they did it, I don't know what they're secret is but they seem to be wildly successful at doing many things which is something that just blows my mind. How do you bring together so many different things and make every single thing work? They have this secret. I want to know what it is. But when I applied for the job, I kept thinking about the same vastness and improbability that has been confusing me about commitment, only in a different way - so many things can go wrong with my application. I might not be what they're looking for, they're full up, my application was too long, I didn't answer the right questions and on and on and on. The possibilities were endless. As is the way the world works - so many different things can happen and yet, only one thing does. I can either get rejected (for various reasons) or I could get hired (for various reasons). I could live until I'm 100 or I could die tomorrow.
Although I sound really negative and pessimistic, there is one solid thing that I hold on to though. There was an article I read a couple of months ago (I wish I could cite it but I've really forgotten where I read it) and it explained the mathematical probability of there being another copy of you in this world. It was literally 0. There is mathematically no chance that you could have been born differently because the number of things that need to come together to make you you are too many, so the chances of everything coming together again to produce another you is zero. ZERO. So maybe my indecisiveness now doesn't even matter because at the end of the day, whatever I decide will be what was meant to be decided. And that will make it all the more meaningful because I know that whatever path is for me, is tailor made for me, regardless of who the tailor is. I believe it's 100% God, some might disagree and just say it's fate, some might say it's maths again but whatever happens and whatever I choose or am not chosen for, it is what it will be. So I should get on with it.
I can do it.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
The houses we live in
I was driving around with a friend a few weeks ago and we were going around one of KL's more affluent areas called Bangsar just looking at pretty houses. Normally I can't stand any "affluent" area in KL, I find them completely charmless, pretentious and over the top. If houses in KL could speak, they'd be speaking in those annoying put on American accents and any conversation with these talking houses would be a series of humble brags about how its doors were designed by Gucci in Italy just because they were #blessed. But Bangsar is a different story. Bangsar is full of tiny houses tucked away in quiet little streets and they usually look like nothing but give it a couple of seconds and slowly you begin to realize the beautifully subtle details like vines growing on the fences and a bookshelf by the window that extends from floor to ceiling. But the downside of house-watching in the middle of the night is that you run the risk of looking like a stalker or criminal then realize that someone in that house is probably watching you and is contemplating calling the police. So you move on to the next house.
I think it's entirely true that the way houses look is an extension or a reflection of the people living in it and the start of this "reflection" starts when you try to develop into your own person. When I was a teenager, my room was exactly like me. My mother is a very clean person and would physically ache upon the sight of messiness so there was never clothes on the floor or an untidy desk. I simply wasn't allowed that privilege. Neither was I allowed to have posters on the wall because apparently I would damage the paint work so my walls were pristine as well. But, once you opened up my cupboard doors, you were faced with a mad collage of my favorite bands, actors (I was crazy about Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen) and weird so-called cool indie patterns I'd find in random magazines that I thought were cool and edgy. My clothes weren't allowed to be thrown on the floor so obviously my cupboard was never organized. The teenage mess instinct in me had to be let out somewhere, so instead of neat folded piles, I was faced with a mountain of clothes that I'd pick apart everyday to decide what to wear. I didn't mind at all. It was the same with my work desk. Sure, all my papers were put away into cute little boxes and files but inside those boxes and files was a tragic mess. My drawers were a nightmare of discarded worksheets, exercise books and I'd sift through that nightmare every night to find that single sheet of homework I'd need for the next day at school. So in essence, my teenage room was exactly like teenage me - controlled chaos. Organized, clean and presentable on the outside, thanks to an external force (aka my mother) but complete madness and disarray on the inside (aka the true me).
So fast forward to the present where I am house-snooping and wondering what the people who live in these beautiful houses were like. One house had a window large enough to show off its book shelf that was 2 storey's tall (ie from ceiling of the first level to floor of the ground level). I was in love. So many thoughts were running through my mind like, "Hey there, owner of beautiful house with dream library. What do you have there on that divine piece of architecture? The full Harry Potter set? The works of Homer and Shakespeare? Encyclopedias? Yo man, don't even hide if you've got the whole 50 Shades of Grey trilogy because it doesn't matter. All that matters is how wonderful it must be to come back to a beautiful house with all those books in your own comfort. What else do you like? What colors exist in that beautiful space? Do you have a garden or are you like me and plants just wither and die under your care?". The monologue was endless and continued from house to house.
Some of the houses were open enough for me to catch a quick glimpse of the people living inside them and thinking back, I've realised that it's a strange thing to watch someone else live their everyday life. Isn't it weird that while you have your own thoughts and experiences and dreams, someone else has their own thoughts, experiences and dreams that are entirely different from yours. There is an entire monologue going on in their heads that is separate from yours. They see the world through a pair of eyes just like yours and yet, the things you both see are different. That person is sitting there on that couch that they are probably so used to sitting on and you are outside, watching them sit on that couch and thinking, "Hey, that looks comfy". Then I go back to my own couch in my own home that I am used to sitting on, living my own humdrum life giving it no second thought and I remain acutely unaware that someone might just be watching me for just a minute thinking, "I wonder what it's like to be her. She looks really comfy in that space that she owns".
Again I think is a pretty solid conclusion about this strange life that we all live. On the outside, the things that we have and surround ourselves with seemingly reflect what we are on the inside. Some people keep books around, some people are tidy, some people only like the colours black and white but the things that led them to keep those books around or keep tidy or decorate with certain colours are all completely individual decisions made according to experiences and thoughts that we will never know of. But our own habits are made up of these similarly individual experiences and thoughts, and while we're so busy wondering about the lives of other people and how lovely it must be living in that space that they've created, there might be someone out there looking just as longingly into our lives wondering what it's like to live in ours.
I think it's entirely true that the way houses look is an extension or a reflection of the people living in it and the start of this "reflection" starts when you try to develop into your own person. When I was a teenager, my room was exactly like me. My mother is a very clean person and would physically ache upon the sight of messiness so there was never clothes on the floor or an untidy desk. I simply wasn't allowed that privilege. Neither was I allowed to have posters on the wall because apparently I would damage the paint work so my walls were pristine as well. But, once you opened up my cupboard doors, you were faced with a mad collage of my favorite bands, actors (I was crazy about Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen) and weird so-called cool indie patterns I'd find in random magazines that I thought were cool and edgy. My clothes weren't allowed to be thrown on the floor so obviously my cupboard was never organized. The teenage mess instinct in me had to be let out somewhere, so instead of neat folded piles, I was faced with a mountain of clothes that I'd pick apart everyday to decide what to wear. I didn't mind at all. It was the same with my work desk. Sure, all my papers were put away into cute little boxes and files but inside those boxes and files was a tragic mess. My drawers were a nightmare of discarded worksheets, exercise books and I'd sift through that nightmare every night to find that single sheet of homework I'd need for the next day at school. So in essence, my teenage room was exactly like teenage me - controlled chaos. Organized, clean and presentable on the outside, thanks to an external force (aka my mother) but complete madness and disarray on the inside (aka the true me).
So fast forward to the present where I am house-snooping and wondering what the people who live in these beautiful houses were like. One house had a window large enough to show off its book shelf that was 2 storey's tall (ie from ceiling of the first level to floor of the ground level). I was in love. So many thoughts were running through my mind like, "Hey there, owner of beautiful house with dream library. What do you have there on that divine piece of architecture? The full Harry Potter set? The works of Homer and Shakespeare? Encyclopedias? Yo man, don't even hide if you've got the whole 50 Shades of Grey trilogy because it doesn't matter. All that matters is how wonderful it must be to come back to a beautiful house with all those books in your own comfort. What else do you like? What colors exist in that beautiful space? Do you have a garden or are you like me and plants just wither and die under your care?". The monologue was endless and continued from house to house.
Some of the houses were open enough for me to catch a quick glimpse of the people living inside them and thinking back, I've realised that it's a strange thing to watch someone else live their everyday life. Isn't it weird that while you have your own thoughts and experiences and dreams, someone else has their own thoughts, experiences and dreams that are entirely different from yours. There is an entire monologue going on in their heads that is separate from yours. They see the world through a pair of eyes just like yours and yet, the things you both see are different. That person is sitting there on that couch that they are probably so used to sitting on and you are outside, watching them sit on that couch and thinking, "Hey, that looks comfy". Then I go back to my own couch in my own home that I am used to sitting on, living my own humdrum life giving it no second thought and I remain acutely unaware that someone might just be watching me for just a minute thinking, "I wonder what it's like to be her. She looks really comfy in that space that she owns".
Again I think is a pretty solid conclusion about this strange life that we all live. On the outside, the things that we have and surround ourselves with seemingly reflect what we are on the inside. Some people keep books around, some people are tidy, some people only like the colours black and white but the things that led them to keep those books around or keep tidy or decorate with certain colours are all completely individual decisions made according to experiences and thoughts that we will never know of. But our own habits are made up of these similarly individual experiences and thoughts, and while we're so busy wondering about the lives of other people and how lovely it must be living in that space that they've created, there might be someone out there looking just as longingly into our lives wondering what it's like to live in ours.
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Syria
Earlier this year, someone close to me who lives in Saudi Arabia told me something quite scary and somewhat unimaginable to me - one of the guys from his circle of friends, Ahmed (I changed his name) had disappeared and was not heard from at all. He had been gone for almost a month at that time. A few months later, they heard that Ahmed was seen in Turkey, had sold the family car he took and was presumably about to use the cash to get himself across the border to Syria. They feared the worst, thinking he had joined ISIS but were hopeful he would come to his senses and then come home safe. A few months after that, they found out that he did manage to get into Syria but was not involved in crackpot delusional ISIS but had joined the rebels to fight against the Syrian regime, against Bashar Al Assad. A few weeks ago, that someone close to me came back to KL. We had a fun week that was spent watching movies, eating a lot of food and just generally caught up on the time spent apart doing things that normal young adults do. Days before he was supposed to return home, he got news from home telling him that his friend Ahmed had been killed while fighting against this demon regime.
When he told me about what had happened to Ahmed, I was stunned and did not know how to react at all. This was foreign territory to me - how do you respond when you hear that someone close to someone you care about has not just died, but killed while fighting? Do you say sorry? Doesn't that sound a bit weak though? So do you reach out for a reassuring hug? What? I just stayed silent.
After a while, we were back to normal and continued our usual activities without a mention of Ahmed. But occasionally he would say things like, "I was really looking forward to him coming back home" and "I bet he must have kicked ass while he was out there", again throwing me into those unknown waters, not knowing how to react and hoping he'd go back to normal.
Fast forward to the present, about 2 weeks after hearing about Ahmed. My friend has gone back to KSA, I'm here at home in KL. It's almost midnight, I am sitting on my living room floor with the TV playing in the background. I had a good dinner a few hours ago but my stomach has just started rumbling again and I was looking through the stories of my friends on Snapchat with my 64gb iPhone that my dad bought for me a month ago. I looked at my friends Stories and thought, "Ugh they're at a mamak shop having supper and they didn't invite me?". Then I watched Masterchef on the 30 or 40something inch TV we have in the living room in HD which only further reminded me of my rumbling tummy. I then head into the kitchen and get myself a giant bowl of cereal. I walk to the living room again and plonk myself back down onto my comfortable couch with an ample selection of big fluffy cushions. I grab my laptop and start scrolling through Twitter. I've got Star World playing in the background and the program has switched from Masterchef to Candidly Nicole. Nicole Richie has now apparently picked up online dating to help her friend find a partner. Nicole insists on tweaking her friends profile on the dating site because apparently "you won't get a man just by being completely yourself", to which her friend just replies with a stony stare. I think that is supposed to compute as funny in the viewers head.
At this point, I'm only half listening to Nicole's opinions because I found a link on Twitter depicting a timeline of the Syrian crisis that has just massively blown up since the pictures of the toddler washed up on a beach has spread across the internet. I click on it. It's a series of tweets by a Syrian activist who has been documenting the crisis from the 2011. Then I find another link to a YouTube video. It was a group of men who had found the body of another activist who had been killed. His larynx had been ripped out, the men around him were saying words like "Shaheed (martyr)" and "Allahu-akbar (God is great)", at which I realized I had tears in my eyes and I felt a little nauseous.
I look up at the TV and see that Candidly Nicole now has a bunch of frat boys who are playing that weird beer game where they do a handstand over a barrel while trying to chug down lots of beer until someone throws up. Everything in that show seems to deliberately show how wonderful it is to be American and rich. All the colors are so vivid and bright. Why is her garden so green? Why is that red bucket so brightly crimson? How is their sky so incredibly blue? I look around my house - at my comfortable couch with my ample selection of big fluffy cushions, my HD tv, my iPhone, this laptop I am staring at. I think about my mother sleeping soundly in her bed, safe in the knowledge that she is there and is alright and will wake up tomorrow safe in that same bed.
Then my thoughts switch back to Ahmed, who is my age and has been killed in a fight and to the dead activist who had his larynx ripped out and then I realized why I teared up. This issue is so real and is happening right this moment, as I type these words out. As I am sitting here in physical comfort on my couch, there is someone out there who is just like me and going through what seems like hell to me. No six degrees of separation between me and this crisis, even though it is happening half way across the globe. No distance or buffer anymore, no feeling of "it's just something on the news". This has affected someone that I know and care about which has subsequently affected me. Yet, here I am like many lucky others in this world, in my comfortable home with the world still safe for me. I am enjoying these privileges merely because I am allowed to. Because I am lucky. Because God has granted me this blessing of a roof over my head.
Why me? I don't know why. Why not them too? I don't know either. Allahu-akbar.
What do I do now? I remember that this life isn't about finding the perfect partner through online dating. The grass isn't always that TV green, sky isn't so bright hyper blue, that bucket isn't that red in real life. There are other things happening in real life that are terrible and unimaginable and cruel. You're just a little speck of life in this life of millions but someOne has chosen to bless you with this life of joy and comfort and stability. Some people like Ahmed may choose to leave all that and try to make a difference. But you are you on the other side of the world and all you can do is watch everything around you happen. You may wonder why such bad things happen and you may never find an answer to that. But you will always remember that you are one of the lucky ones and maybe you can do your part in just remembering that and being thankful. Being thankful means you are aware. Being aware means that maybe one day, you'll be able to take part in doing something about it.
When he told me about what had happened to Ahmed, I was stunned and did not know how to react at all. This was foreign territory to me - how do you respond when you hear that someone close to someone you care about has not just died, but killed while fighting? Do you say sorry? Doesn't that sound a bit weak though? So do you reach out for a reassuring hug? What? I just stayed silent.
After a while, we were back to normal and continued our usual activities without a mention of Ahmed. But occasionally he would say things like, "I was really looking forward to him coming back home" and "I bet he must have kicked ass while he was out there", again throwing me into those unknown waters, not knowing how to react and hoping he'd go back to normal.
Fast forward to the present, about 2 weeks after hearing about Ahmed. My friend has gone back to KSA, I'm here at home in KL. It's almost midnight, I am sitting on my living room floor with the TV playing in the background. I had a good dinner a few hours ago but my stomach has just started rumbling again and I was looking through the stories of my friends on Snapchat with my 64gb iPhone that my dad bought for me a month ago. I looked at my friends Stories and thought, "Ugh they're at a mamak shop having supper and they didn't invite me?". Then I watched Masterchef on the 30 or 40something inch TV we have in the living room in HD which only further reminded me of my rumbling tummy. I then head into the kitchen and get myself a giant bowl of cereal. I walk to the living room again and plonk myself back down onto my comfortable couch with an ample selection of big fluffy cushions. I grab my laptop and start scrolling through Twitter. I've got Star World playing in the background and the program has switched from Masterchef to Candidly Nicole. Nicole Richie has now apparently picked up online dating to help her friend find a partner. Nicole insists on tweaking her friends profile on the dating site because apparently "you won't get a man just by being completely yourself", to which her friend just replies with a stony stare. I think that is supposed to compute as funny in the viewers head.
At this point, I'm only half listening to Nicole's opinions because I found a link on Twitter depicting a timeline of the Syrian crisis that has just massively blown up since the pictures of the toddler washed up on a beach has spread across the internet. I click on it. It's a series of tweets by a Syrian activist who has been documenting the crisis from the 2011. Then I find another link to a YouTube video. It was a group of men who had found the body of another activist who had been killed. His larynx had been ripped out, the men around him were saying words like "Shaheed (martyr)" and "Allahu-akbar (God is great)", at which I realized I had tears in my eyes and I felt a little nauseous.
I look up at the TV and see that Candidly Nicole now has a bunch of frat boys who are playing that weird beer game where they do a handstand over a barrel while trying to chug down lots of beer until someone throws up. Everything in that show seems to deliberately show how wonderful it is to be American and rich. All the colors are so vivid and bright. Why is her garden so green? Why is that red bucket so brightly crimson? How is their sky so incredibly blue? I look around my house - at my comfortable couch with my ample selection of big fluffy cushions, my HD tv, my iPhone, this laptop I am staring at. I think about my mother sleeping soundly in her bed, safe in the knowledge that she is there and is alright and will wake up tomorrow safe in that same bed.
Then my thoughts switch back to Ahmed, who is my age and has been killed in a fight and to the dead activist who had his larynx ripped out and then I realized why I teared up. This issue is so real and is happening right this moment, as I type these words out. As I am sitting here in physical comfort on my couch, there is someone out there who is just like me and going through what seems like hell to me. No six degrees of separation between me and this crisis, even though it is happening half way across the globe. No distance or buffer anymore, no feeling of "it's just something on the news". This has affected someone that I know and care about which has subsequently affected me. Yet, here I am like many lucky others in this world, in my comfortable home with the world still safe for me. I am enjoying these privileges merely because I am allowed to. Because I am lucky. Because God has granted me this blessing of a roof over my head.
Why me? I don't know why. Why not them too? I don't know either. Allahu-akbar.
What do I do now? I remember that this life isn't about finding the perfect partner through online dating. The grass isn't always that TV green, sky isn't so bright hyper blue, that bucket isn't that red in real life. There are other things happening in real life that are terrible and unimaginable and cruel. You're just a little speck of life in this life of millions but someOne has chosen to bless you with this life of joy and comfort and stability. Some people like Ahmed may choose to leave all that and try to make a difference. But you are you on the other side of the world and all you can do is watch everything around you happen. You may wonder why such bad things happen and you may never find an answer to that. But you will always remember that you are one of the lucky ones and maybe you can do your part in just remembering that and being thankful. Being thankful means you are aware. Being aware means that maybe one day, you'll be able to take part in doing something about it.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
F*ck you/Thank you, Charlie Hebdo.
Charlie Hebdo.
I have thought and thought for days on end about you and I can't help it because everyone is talking about you and yet I can't agree with most of the people you have seemingly influenced, no matter how eloquent or rational or admirable they may be, because to me you have done something wrong and the damage you have done seems so large that it's just difficult to bear. Maybe this is what you wanted, though. This continuous talk about you and this giant shift of thinking towards defending what you have stood for. Although now that I think about it, I don't really understand what you stood for. Humor? You weren't funny at all. Bravery? You're just a piece of paper making fun of people. Loyalty? You insulted pretty much everyone. What was the message you were sending? I don't know, but I guess that's just me. Other people seem to think you had a solid enough message to defend and by that, I mean millions of people. Is the message supposed to be that you should be allowed to be rude to others and make fun of what they love? We were taught not to do that when we were in kindergarten.
I'm genuinely surprised at how much you've managed to affect me, Charlie. You are something so far away, so non-existent to me, you have had absolutely nothing to do with my life until just about a week ago. You have managed to make me think and reflect and even cry for what has happened because of you.
I have thought and thought for days on end about you and I can't help it because everyone is talking about you and yet I can't agree with most of the people you have seemingly influenced, no matter how eloquent or rational or admirable they may be, because to me you have done something wrong and the damage you have done seems so large that it's just difficult to bear. Maybe this is what you wanted, though. This continuous talk about you and this giant shift of thinking towards defending what you have stood for. Although now that I think about it, I don't really understand what you stood for. Humor? You weren't funny at all. Bravery? You're just a piece of paper making fun of people. Loyalty? You insulted pretty much everyone. What was the message you were sending? I don't know, but I guess that's just me. Other people seem to think you had a solid enough message to defend and by that, I mean millions of people. Is the message supposed to be that you should be allowed to be rude to others and make fun of what they love? We were taught not to do that when we were in kindergarten.
"Your mama so fat ....." "DON'T bring my mom into this, that's really rude" "Well, she IS" *fist fight starts*
Are you saying that it's okay now that you're all grown up and you're paid to do it anyway? I don't think it's okay at all because the consequence was much much much more severe. It wasn't a fist fight, it was death.
Maybe I'm missing the point. But nevertheless, it's quite amazing - all you are is pieces of paper and you have managed to change so many things.
You've shattered my pristine, sheltered little world by showing me that the religion I practice has been so terribly twisted by some people that they used it to justify murdering someone over itty bitty pieces of paper. Just because of your so-called "message", these twisted people decided that you should pay the ultimate price but now it's probably made millions think that people like me are just like them. We are all the same - violent and cruel and dangerous, we believe in weird things and we should be stopped.
I'm not the best practicing religious little Muslim girl around but I am slowly trying to find my way. You've made me see that another person who's probably like me, just slowly trying to find their way to Islam, isn't going to have it as easy as I do. They could get attacked for something they wear on their head, they could get shunned by their friends because of what they believe in, they might not get a job because of a law against them and their religion; all these things I can do comfortably here where I live. Lucky for me, I'm not from where you are. I live all the way on the other side of the world where it's fine to be a Muslim and for once, I am proud of identifying as a Muslim. I would like to think that if I were living in France as a Muslim, if I were in those Charlie Hebdo stained shoes, I would be brave enough to stand up for my religion and for what I believe in. I'd risk having all these dangerous things happen to me because the right thing to do is to defend my religion. But I also think that if I were truly in those shoes, I would just duck down and hide because it's so much safer and I just want to live in this world as peacefully and as problem-free as possible. But at the very least you've made me think about this. At least you've made me realize that yes, I identify as a Muslim and I want people to know that I am a Muslim. Now I know that my religion is definitely a part of my identity after all and if you have managed to upset me this much, Charlie, that means it's a big part of my identity. You haven't shaken my faith but possibly strengthened it and that makes me one step closer to becoming a better Muslim. You've succeeded in something, Charlie but I don't know if that's what you were going for.
Did you even know what you were going for?
Maybe not, but you're really making lots of people think. Good for you, I hope it was worth it.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Lonely, Alone and Being Alone.
What does it mean to not belong to a group but instead, belong to several close friendships that do not overlap? Social psychology classes (not that I attended very many) insinuate that forming groups is a natural part of human social interaction. Forming a sort of alliance to reach a common goal, as it's formally put forward. But often, I can never share a common goal with a whole group of people. Or actually, I don't even have a goal. I don't know what I'm aiming for with a bunch of people. It's easier to find a common interest with just the single person. One life partner. One best girlfriend. One best boyfriend. One best friend to act stupid and do nothing and talk about nothing with. One best other friend to have serious conversations about society. Isn't that simpler? Well, maybe only to me.
And yet, it's incredibly lonely to not belong to a tight knit group. Here I am in this two-way problem - on the one hand, I like my single friendships because it's so much easier and fulfilling to maintain. I know who to speak to about specific things and where to turn to for specific problems, where to go to feel or say a certain thing. And yet, I long for that sense of belonging to a group or a society. To be accepted by a whole bunch of people who like the same things I do. Although, I know this will probably never happen because... I don't know. Because I'm too cynical? I think too differently? I think too much? I think thoughts that are un-thought of by most others? I don't know. ***
Lots of the time, I talk to other people and wonder why they think the way they do and why they come to the conclusions they draw. Maybe that's the problem. I'm not supposed to think about THE WAY THEY THINK but about WHAT THEY THINK. I'm supposed to relate to the problem, not relate to the way they think of the problem.
But doesn't that make me the same as everyone else? Won't that make me give the same opinion as what everyone else does about their problem?
*** Then there are the feelings and problems that I think God has designed exclusively for me so I don't speak about them to anyone I know at all. At least not extensively. They might know the gist but the details are always inside my head and never out. Mostly because I know they won't or can't relate. Even if they try, they aren't capable of giving me the advice I need because it is a decision/conclusion I need to come to on my own. I don't blame anyone for not being capable of helping me solve a problem or dealing with a feeling because they aren't in my shoes and they don't know how I feel 100% no matter how eloquently I can express myself. No matter what, my thoughts will always be mine. So the problems that I have related to thoughts, they will only be solved by me. And those are always the hardest problems.
There is the one person, however, who claims to know me better than anyone; maybe better than even I know myself. "I can read you like a kindergarten book", his exact words. Everyday I am grateful for this opinion, because even though it might probably be untrue, I'm glad someone feels they truly understand me because sometimes I don't even understand myself. On the other hand, maybe he's right. I actually AM an open book, it's just me who complicates situations in my head but once they're unraveled out in reality, my thoughts and actions are clear.
I suppose situations seem complicated in my head because there are so many things I am unsure of. I don't even know the point of writing all this. Funny how I've changed. Past blog posts all had a point - a story to tell, a single opinion to express, one complete thought. But now, I don't write with a purpose. I write to find a purpose. I write to help myself find a conclusion. But then, a conclusion to what? I don't know about that either.
A conclusion to why I'm often alone? I know why I'm often alone, though. Not many people here connect with me. I can't find many people who think the way I do or see things the way I see it. I find many people shallow minded, hypocritical, purposeless, and so many other majorly wrong things that I am not interested in fixing. I'm not even interested in ignoring it. I just don't want to have anything to do with it. That's why I have very few friends. But alhamdulillah, the few I have are good people. The friendships we have are simple and honest. The people I connect the absolute best with, I love completely and luckily for me, they feel the same. Maybe that's all I need. No maybe's. That IS all I need.
A conclusion to why I often feel lonely? Because the friends I have are often not in the same place. Months separate us and I often find myself going through days alone and having distant conversations with them. I have to deal with time differences and different schedules and different lifestyles and that's obviously difficult. I have to go days without speaking to them and months without seeing them. Sometimes even years. I am here, living my life without them, while they are wherever they are, living their lives separate from mine. Although we keep connections strong, we communicate often but obviously I'm lonely because long distance conversations are very very different from physical presence. I am lonely because I am alone. I am alone because the people I connect with, the people I WANT to spend time with, are rarely with me.
A conclusion to why I feel alone? Because I think alone but not in the physical sense. My thoughts are rarely shared by people. I find very few people who view things the way I do. And again, the few who share my views are rarely with me. I feel alone because I'm trapped in a place where the opinions of the people where I am are very different to mine. And usually, very different in a negative way. A view that doesn't allow discussion. I don't want to have empty conversations. I don't want narrow-minded friends. I don't want arrogance. I don't want sheep. I want people who challenge, I want people with opinions, I want people with perspective, I want people with logic, I want people with knowledge, I want people who can teach me new things, I want people who can tell me stories about places I've never been, I want people who agree with me, I want people who disagree with me and can rationally tell me why, I want people with reason, I want people with faith, I want people with perspective, I want people with the capacity to change their perspective and also mine, I want people with opinions, I want people with confidence, I want people with grounds, I want people with eloquence. So many other things.
Maybe THAT'S why I'm lonely, why I'm alone and why I feel alone. I want too much out of people. I expect too much and whenever I meet someone new who falls short, I end up disappointed and disheartened and annoyed even. Maybe I'm too picky.
But is it too much to ask? I don't think so. I HAVE found people who possess all that and more. I know they're out there, although few and far in between. They exist. Why should I lower my standards of the people I surround myself with just to make myself feel content with company? Why should I be with people who don't make me fully happy? At least I know what and who and what it is about whoever that makes me happy.
Why am I just generally, not 100% happy with the company I have?
Because the company you enjoy isn't always here. That's all, Nadia.
They always come back, though. But sometimes, you're all you have and that's okay.
And yet, it's incredibly lonely to not belong to a tight knit group. Here I am in this two-way problem - on the one hand, I like my single friendships because it's so much easier and fulfilling to maintain. I know who to speak to about specific things and where to turn to for specific problems, where to go to feel or say a certain thing. And yet, I long for that sense of belonging to a group or a society. To be accepted by a whole bunch of people who like the same things I do. Although, I know this will probably never happen because... I don't know. Because I'm too cynical? I think too differently? I think too much? I think thoughts that are un-thought of by most others? I don't know. ***
Lots of the time, I talk to other people and wonder why they think the way they do and why they come to the conclusions they draw. Maybe that's the problem. I'm not supposed to think about THE WAY THEY THINK but about WHAT THEY THINK. I'm supposed to relate to the problem, not relate to the way they think of the problem.
But doesn't that make me the same as everyone else? Won't that make me give the same opinion as what everyone else does about their problem?
*** Then there are the feelings and problems that I think God has designed exclusively for me so I don't speak about them to anyone I know at all. At least not extensively. They might know the gist but the details are always inside my head and never out. Mostly because I know they won't or can't relate. Even if they try, they aren't capable of giving me the advice I need because it is a decision/conclusion I need to come to on my own. I don't blame anyone for not being capable of helping me solve a problem or dealing with a feeling because they aren't in my shoes and they don't know how I feel 100% no matter how eloquently I can express myself. No matter what, my thoughts will always be mine. So the problems that I have related to thoughts, they will only be solved by me. And those are always the hardest problems.
There is the one person, however, who claims to know me better than anyone; maybe better than even I know myself. "I can read you like a kindergarten book", his exact words. Everyday I am grateful for this opinion, because even though it might probably be untrue, I'm glad someone feels they truly understand me because sometimes I don't even understand myself. On the other hand, maybe he's right. I actually AM an open book, it's just me who complicates situations in my head but once they're unraveled out in reality, my thoughts and actions are clear.
I suppose situations seem complicated in my head because there are so many things I am unsure of. I don't even know the point of writing all this. Funny how I've changed. Past blog posts all had a point - a story to tell, a single opinion to express, one complete thought. But now, I don't write with a purpose. I write to find a purpose. I write to help myself find a conclusion. But then, a conclusion to what? I don't know about that either.
A conclusion to why I'm often alone? I know why I'm often alone, though. Not many people here connect with me. I can't find many people who think the way I do or see things the way I see it. I find many people shallow minded, hypocritical, purposeless, and so many other majorly wrong things that I am not interested in fixing. I'm not even interested in ignoring it. I just don't want to have anything to do with it. That's why I have very few friends. But alhamdulillah, the few I have are good people. The friendships we have are simple and honest. The people I connect the absolute best with, I love completely and luckily for me, they feel the same. Maybe that's all I need. No maybe's. That IS all I need.
A conclusion to why I often feel lonely? Because the friends I have are often not in the same place. Months separate us and I often find myself going through days alone and having distant conversations with them. I have to deal with time differences and different schedules and different lifestyles and that's obviously difficult. I have to go days without speaking to them and months without seeing them. Sometimes even years. I am here, living my life without them, while they are wherever they are, living their lives separate from mine. Although we keep connections strong, we communicate often but obviously I'm lonely because long distance conversations are very very different from physical presence. I am lonely because I am alone. I am alone because the people I connect with, the people I WANT to spend time with, are rarely with me.
A conclusion to why I feel alone? Because I think alone but not in the physical sense. My thoughts are rarely shared by people. I find very few people who view things the way I do. And again, the few who share my views are rarely with me. I feel alone because I'm trapped in a place where the opinions of the people where I am are very different to mine. And usually, very different in a negative way. A view that doesn't allow discussion. I don't want to have empty conversations. I don't want narrow-minded friends. I don't want arrogance. I don't want sheep. I want people who challenge, I want people with opinions, I want people with perspective, I want people with logic, I want people with knowledge, I want people who can teach me new things, I want people who can tell me stories about places I've never been, I want people who agree with me, I want people who disagree with me and can rationally tell me why, I want people with reason, I want people with faith, I want people with perspective, I want people with the capacity to change their perspective and also mine, I want people with opinions, I want people with confidence, I want people with grounds, I want people with eloquence. So many other things.
Maybe THAT'S why I'm lonely, why I'm alone and why I feel alone. I want too much out of people. I expect too much and whenever I meet someone new who falls short, I end up disappointed and disheartened and annoyed even. Maybe I'm too picky.
But is it too much to ask? I don't think so. I HAVE found people who possess all that and more. I know they're out there, although few and far in between. They exist. Why should I lower my standards of the people I surround myself with just to make myself feel content with company? Why should I be with people who don't make me fully happy? At least I know what and who and what it is about whoever that makes me happy.
Why am I just generally, not 100% happy with the company I have?
Because the company you enjoy isn't always here. That's all, Nadia.
They always come back, though. But sometimes, you're all you have and that's okay.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The fucked up test
ATTENTION DEFICIT HYPERACTIVE DISORDER:
[x] Your mind is all over the place.
[x] You are hyper most of the time.
[x] You barely pay attention to anything.
[x] You can’t cooperate well.
[ ] You talk all of the time.
[ ] You need attention 24/7.
Total: 4
BIPOLAR DISORDER:
[x] You can act wild at times then the next day you are depressed.
[ ] You are very irritable.
[ ] You are antisocial
[x] You have very high self esteem sometimes.
[ ] You are abusing alcohol, drugs or sex.
[x] You have thought of or attempted suicide.
Total: 3
DEPRESSION:
[ ] You are always sad.
[ ] You find no hope in your future.
[x] You find no longer excitement over the activities you use to love.
[x] You always find yourself around the house all day.
[ ] You have low self esteem.
[x] Everything bad that happens is always your fault.
[ ] You always seem to be weak or have physical features hurt.
[ ] You are failing school.
[x] You have thought of or attempted suicide.
[x] You have/tried to run away from home.
[ ] Hope is no longer there for you.
total: 4
OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER:
[ ] You have daily rituals.
[x] You have disturbing thoughts or thoughts you hate.
[x] You have to do a certain thing until it feels right.
[ ] You have to keep things in a certain order.
[ ] You have to check some stuff over again.
total: 2
POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER:
[x] You repeatedly have flashbacks of horrible moments or memories in your life.
[ ] You repeatedly have dreams of horrible moments or memories in your life.
[x] You sometimes think the event will happen again.
[x] You can be antisocial.
[x] You have lost interest in the things you used to love.
[ ] You have not had a lot of sleep lately.
[x] You worry about dying at a early age or dying at all.
[ ] You can have angry outbursts.
[x] You act younger than your age.
total: 6
SCHIZOPHRENIA:
[ ] You often have hallucinations.
[x] You think people are always staring or talking about you.
[x] You have strange, unusual dreams or thoughts.
[ ] You can be confused about reality and fantasy.
[ ] You have extreme anxiety or fearfulness.
[ ] You do not take care of your hygiene like you should
[x] You are very shy.
[x] You often talk to yourself.total: 4
23/45 That's alright... I think.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
You're a prized possession
Conversation Number 1:
"I don't want to spoil your fun la, you're going for the Lil Jon show and I don't wanna ruin it by telling you all my problems now. Besides, it's not a big deal. 'll be fine."
"Nad. I'm one of your closest friends. You know you can tell me anything and I'll be right here for you."
Conversation Number 2:
"Is it okay if I wanna vent?"
"Nadia, you dumbass, you don't even have to ask. You know I'll listen."
Conversation Number 3:
"He's really creeping me out with these messages, what the hell am I going to do?"
"Don't worry, Nadia. I'll handle the idiot. Just stop worrying, I've got your back."
"Yeah Nadia. It's fine. I'll talk to him"
My friends might not be the most conventional of people. They might look weird, seem bad-ass, have a twisted sense of humor that nobody gets or seem strange. They may seem weird and annoying to you, you may not understand what they say sometimes.
Your friends have the perfect hair, beautiful clothes, like mainstream, they're loaded, have the coolest things on the market. But do your attractive, cool, popular friends stick around when you ask them to listen to a problem you have? Do they have your back when you're in a jam?
They don't? Think twice about them. They're not real.
They do? Awesome. You lucked out. Just like I did with my weird friends. And I wouldn't trade them for anything. Neither should you.
"I don't want to spoil your fun la, you're going for the Lil Jon show and I don't wanna ruin it by telling you all my problems now. Besides, it's not a big deal. 'll be fine."
"Nad. I'm one of your closest friends. You know you can tell me anything and I'll be right here for you."
Conversation Number 2:
"Is it okay if I wanna vent?"
"Nadia, you dumbass, you don't even have to ask. You know I'll listen."
Conversation Number 3:
"He's really creeping me out with these messages, what the hell am I going to do?"
"Don't worry, Nadia. I'll handle the idiot. Just stop worrying, I've got your back."
"Yeah Nadia. It's fine. I'll talk to him"
My friends might not be the most conventional of people. They might look weird, seem bad-ass, have a twisted sense of humor that nobody gets or seem strange. They may seem weird and annoying to you, you may not understand what they say sometimes.
Your friends have the perfect hair, beautiful clothes, like mainstream, they're loaded, have the coolest things on the market. But do your attractive, cool, popular friends stick around when you ask them to listen to a problem you have? Do they have your back when you're in a jam?
They don't? Think twice about them. They're not real.
They do? Awesome. You lucked out. Just like I did with my weird friends. And I wouldn't trade them for anything. Neither should you.
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