My Moleskine
I finally conformed to society and got myself a Moleskine about a month ago, because I gave up on searching for the notebook with beyond-perfect paper I had prior to this. Got it while on a 1.5-day trip to Singapore, though I doubt it makes any significant difference if I got one locally instead.
//P.S. This is for you, Mei Yen :] Sorry it took so long, I just discovered it sitting in my drafts -_-
I don’t quite remember how much a classic hard cover Moleskine is priced here, but I got it for….Okay I forgot. It was probably slightly under $40(Sing dollar). I would’ve imagined it to be cheaper if I’d gotten it locally but I bought nothing in SG so I decided to pick a few extra bucks out my pocket to get it there and then.
So I got the Squared notebook instead of the usual single-line ’cause I figured it’d make doodling more fun, and since I have classes like Live Sound Reinforcement this semester it could come useful.
Alright you got me, so I got the Squared notebook simply because I was looking for a change and this was a little less….conventional. And to further make it more ‘unconventional’ I “personalized’ it by putting a huge-ass sticker that Dean got from buying his guitar, on the front cover.
Heeeeee. Period.
One of the first things I noticed upon flipping open the notebook was that the intensity of the color/printing was really, really inconsistent. Some pages were dark and solid, some were patheticly light it almost seemed err, vague. But I looked past that and on to greener pastures I went!
Inconsistent printing
The next thing I noticed were these (obviously) unintentional folds between pages, probably caused by what I’d assume as poor binding. I wasn’t very happy but it didn’t bother me – After all, as long as it doesn’t diminish the pleasure of writing on it, I’d happily look past it.
So I began writing on it.
Folds caused by poor binding
I wrote using my usual pens, most of them who’ve kept me a happy consumer since school days. My faithful Pilot Hi-Tech 0.5 glided on pretty smoothly – Smooth enough to keep me happy, but nowhere close to what it did with my previous notebook. The M&G Expert Gel (Broad) I stole from mom was a gem, then again it’s a signature pen after all. Ball-point pens did not go too smooth on the Moleskine pages, however.
In comparison with a page from my previous notebook
I would overall call it a hundred bucks well spent, then again it would be the complete opposite had I been on a budget. The Moleskine hype – no offense to Moleskine junkies – is pretty overrated(IMHO anyway). Everything (except their marketing strategy) sits on the line of mediocrity. But having said all that, it has kept me rather contented thus far.
National Day
I’m listening to : Pride (In The Name of Love) by U2
I sit here a Monday night, the eve of ‘my’ country’s national day, thinking about my father’s words over the weekend I was home. Dad told me how I must be prepared to leave this place at any given chance, to be ready to leave behind all that once was, move on and never look back. Because whatever potential that might have been bestowed on me, will never be fulfilled completely if I stay.
I sit at the common side of the study table, occasionally looking out my near-floorlength window directly at eye’s level to set my glance on the surprisingly free main road. I hear a speech, well-phrased and well spoken; followed by faint noise of people cheering. Cheering for ‘Merdeka!’ day, for (insert number here) years of independence, for the country’s growth and progress since 1957. You should be able to tell by now that I’m not one who’s patriotic – I didn’t bother to subtract 1957 from 2010 to tell you how many years ‘we’ have been independent.
How can you read, hear, witness news today and still buy it when they tell you this is ‘our’ country? I cannot. Perhaps I don’t see the light. Perhaps I’m not old enough to decide or know for myself.
“Hello world, hope you’re listening. Forgive me if I’m young, speaking out of tongue.” – One Republic
I’ve loved this place before. I’ve given it more second chances than it deserves. Go ahead, go righteous on me and tell me that if we as THE generation of the future ‘runaway’ and ‘turn our backs’ against the country, who will stay to serve and strive to make a change? I’ve been in your shoes once, but in time everything changes. I changed. I no longer believe in being ‘The Future Generation’ of this country. I no longer believe that staying here will bring me anything but disappointment after disappointment. What did I do to ‘turn my back’ against the country? All I did was what I had to do take care of myself and my future – And that, in no way is ‘running away’.
I’ve been trying to write you this elaborate entry on what’s been up (and down), but tonight I cannot help but feel disgusted at how people can still arrogantly and ignorantly promote the ‘independence’, ‘vast growth’ and ‘immense progress’ this country has achieved.
It’s getting louder now – The dictator, the cheering. I’m just waiting for the fireworks to come – so I can enjoy it, and go – so I can get some snooze time.
Well, what can I say? Happy Independence Day, Malaysia.
Love is all that I cannot give to you(’cause I don’t have any)
“Is love a myth?”
Yes, it is.
I had this somber Click Five song playing in my head the entire morning, and this line was in it. I started recollecting all my experiences to do with this thing they call ‘love’, and on top of it try to remember how it made me feel from that point of time until now. Surprises me how much I’ve forgot, and the things I, or more like my brain, chose to remember.
Then I realized… Yeah, love is a myth. It is to me, at least.
Sure, of course I’ve had people who made me happy, who ‘loved’ me and whom I thought I ‘loved’ back too. But now, my once super-strong beliefs in ‘love’ are being questioned, and heck, I never thought it’d be this difficult to answer. Don’t get me wrong, there are people who I’d give my life for, with full will – But it really doesn’t prove anything. That really doesn’t cut it. My willingness to go out of my way and do things for people, I just realized, does not prove anything but my will to help or care, or in some cases, devote. But love… is such a strong word, and I cannot even begin to put it in words.
I’m not bitter, or pessimistic. I’m not being all that because of failed friendships and relationships – contrary to popular belief(or not). Break-ups, between lovers and friends, they happen. Somehow, they happen, with or without the presence, or judgement made lenientdifferent by ‘love’.
I’m just merely doing some wandering and soul-searching. Looking back at my previous relationships, and after much thought, I just came to realize that all the warm, butterflies-in-the-tummy, or even how completely comfy I feel with with someone; all that made me think I was happy, and that I was in love. But convincing myself, at the end of the day, only led me that far and this is where I end up in.
Love = Merely seeking comfort from the thought of always having someone?
I think love… Everyone has their own definitions of it. In my dictionary, love = I haven’t found it yet, get back to you later. I honestly wish I could say I’ve had my share of ‘love’ over the past (nearly) two decades of my life, but have I? Probably not. Not that I noticed, anyway.
Family – Now that’s a different thing that has nothing to do with what I’m speaking of here. The only love I’ve ever really felt coming from another person couldn’t have came from anywhere else but home. Parents, grandpa, siblings… But I’m still a little skeptical about if I really do ‘love’ them the way they do for me. I’ve felt it – the intense…I don’t know how to put it in words, really, how ‘love’ from the family feels like. But for all that I’m willing to give for them, is that really love? I really don’t know.
I might be asking for too much, but if this is what love is like, then I reckon it just isn’t good enough for me. This whole staying-in-love thing, seems just habitual to me now. Being human is all about habits, or so said Ali(and I second that). I just cannot bring myself to believe that you continue staying in love with someone even after a couple of years. I’ve given it much thought, believe me I have, and I noticed that it really is nothing more than a habit; When you’re so used to being with someone, or doing something all the time, and you feel so comfortable with what you’re doing that you get bogged down with the inconveniences of change. Change, like it or not, always has its inconveniences that resolves with nothing else but time. So given that you’re so comfortable with someone/something, you’d rather go on with the habit than to bring on a change that comes with inconvenience and getting used to.
So love, for people…is just a myth for me now. Maybe I haven’t met “The Right One” who’d succeed in teaching or convincing me about ‘love’, or maybe… I was meant to die a lonely old woman living with her rose garden. No wait that can’t be it, since I don’t like soil and gardening.
Truth is, I’ve been spending all this time looking for comfort that would grow into a habit, not love. I just don’t see it happening. This probably won’t cut it, but I really have no clue on how to put my current thoughts into words.
In simpler terms, to me,
Love = Joss Stone, Music, Writing, Tokkok-ingTalking “life” with Ali, Saturday night dinners, CARS, Talking on the phone with mom, blah, blah.
Relationships = Two people being very(if not completely) comfy with each other, which grows into a habit of having someone/blah
That whole I’d-go-out-of-my-way-for-you thingy = Me unsuccessfully convincing myself that I love someone/something
Okay enough crap for today.
Love is either a myth, or just really REALLY subjective.
// Contrary to popular beliefOkay I’ve got to stop saying that, I still enjoy listening to sappy stuff and have memories of this delusional ‘love’ thing come back and smile like an idiot. It’s nice to lie to yourself and feel all sappy once in a while.
Muffled and Silenced
If there was a thing I’ve always enjoyed doing, it would be to tell stories. Through songs or through writing, it didn’t matter as long as I got to tell stories. Moving stories.
Truth be told, it’s been awhile since I last told you an honest story, which probably explains why what I tell you rarely moves any living thing anymore. I guess as you grow and mature you learn the need to censor what you say – and in my case, write, to please society. civilians, they call themselves. Cowards, I call them.
Cowards whom don’t want the true story to be told; cowards who either are too cowardly to know, or to let the story be known. More often than not, fingers are pointed at me, snarky remarks are made and I am left to tell you only one side of the story. Whatever happened to my brutal honesty, some ask. “Whatever happened to the barrier-less connection between the readers and writer you used to emphasize so much on?”
I don’t know. I guess I had to grow up and clean up after myself. Oh the joy of letting the words flow without a tinge of worry, the bliss that comes with it – the bliss that I will never be fortunate enough to taste again. No longer can I maintain the reader-writer honesty you come here for. That, and no longer can I provide you the drama you come here for, for those who still come here to make fun of me and laugh at my life. Oh people, haven’t you grown tired yet?
I can’t be sure, but I guess this happens with age. You rebel, you’re headstrong and you fight for your beliefs when you’re younger; as you get older you just give up and conform to the norm. How long can I fight for something when the rest of the world don’t share the same belief? Only while you’re young. And naive.
So I guess this happens with age, losing your originality. I’m still very much the same old angsty and rebellious girl, believe me, just kept under the wraps. It happens to you after you get into too much trouble for writing and speaking your mind. It happens to you when you’re brutally honest. I’d like to think it happens to everyone, but it doesn’t. How often do you come across someone brutally honest these days? Just about never.
Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to b*tch and harp about dishonest civilians and societies. I’m just here doing my job – Blogging, in a very muffled and silenced way.
Muffled and silenced, hmm.
I Don’t Believe
“I Believe” has been playing on repeat since seven thirty in the morning. Though I don’t get a word of Korean, something about that song (which many people find overrated and sappy) gives me hints of nostalgia.
Last Saturday I met with my old schoolmates for a small gathering barbeque put together by Andy. This wasn’t my usual bunch of friends during school days, not that I really had a bunch in the first place. Funny how things change and friends who were friends when you were fourteen lose contact with you by the time you turn fifteen. These people and I were friends at fourteen, in our second year of secondary school. Funny how we never stopped to talk anymore though we were two classrooms away from each other.
So last Saturday we met and we barely spoke. I chose to stand aside and observe like I do most of the time. It’s always been my nature, being a loner. I could go a week in school without speaking. It’s always been me. Here’s where you make assumptions and go wrong, though, for I am not emo. I’m just a very angry person, as much as I hate to admit.
The smallest things tick me off, though I never really stand up for myself or make confrontations. Though I let people step all over me. Though I stand aside and never get things my way. It doesn’t matter. It is seeing all kinds of bullshit happen in this world and not being able to do crap about it. You care about poverty, really? You love doing charity, really? You wanna help the spastic children, really? I don’t give a f*ck, to be brutally truthful.
Believe me, I once believed in there being good in every bad and whatever crap the world tells you. I once believed that one day we will all find peace and live together in harmony. Fuck, I once believed in God. HAHAH.
I was naive, I’m sorry, but I grew up. I grew up from those fantasies you still believe in, from the lies you still believe in, to the truth you refuse to accept. You really believe that one day, “God” will finally show the world his mercy and bring peace to earth? Wow. Well, I assume you won’t live to see that day. And I assume you’re going to tell me that as long as the future generation can enjoy and savour the peace that will come, you don’t mind the sacrificing and suffering you have to live with now. Bless you and your god.
I cannot help but wonder how some people can still remain so naive and blind to reality, like how many cannot help but wonder how I became such a bitter and miserable person to be around.
The shit that people do to each other… Nevermind.
“Sometimes I wonder… Will God ever forgive us for what we’ve done to each other? Then I look around and I realize… God left this place a long time ago.” – Danny Archer (played by Leonardo DiCaprio), Blood Diamond.
Call me bitter and troubled if you must. And no, I’m not writing this out of anger because of the fucked-up PAS‘ threats to have a protest movement at MLTR’s concert next Saturday, neither is it because they decided to make it legal only for the non-Muslims and above-18s. They’ve always been known to be a brainless bunch of swines.
