Sunday 26 February 2017

Author or writer?

I've always love the word author. Even now.
There seem to have a ring of elegance, majestic and dignity to it.
Writer to me, is just someone who writes.
But an author...I don't more accomplished? More professional? Or simply, to me, just better than being known as a writer.
In my mind then, I known I want to be known as an author not writer.
However, it took me more than two decades to finally explore what is the ultimate difference between writer and author.
It turns out from my google search that my presumption was correct.
But it was sad that I would probably be classified as a writer instead of an author. But hang on a minute, the website says that if you've published an article then you can call yourself an author? Or am I just being delusional?
Oh...and wait, there's another term, blogger.
I guess, in the end my point is, there are simply just many different ways to describe, classify and even stereotype a person.
Ultimately, should a term define us, or do we define ourselves?
Of course, there are going to be various words to describe something, and undeniably, we do need them to express ourselves. Just like how we will still distinguish author from writer.
BUT...maybe we can contend with staying true to ourselves rather than being obsessed with fitting into the labels. We could still work towards the person we want to become, but this should be a fulfilling experience instead of a struggle to be in a better 'category'.
Not to say it is necessarily bad, but perhaps we should enjoy what we do.
Life's too short anyway.

Thursday 23 February 2017


[Disclaimer: This is, unfortunately, not going to be an interesting piece nor a life-changing source of if that's what you're looking for, please feel free to click the "Next Blog" button at the top or scurry away to do your other more important stuff! Still, thanks for stopping by!]

It's been 3 years and 319 days since my last post (apologies to those who have actually been following!). And, of course, as I always do when coming back from a long hiatus, I re-read all of my past posts...

Funny how I would do this every time. And it is even more surreal as I read through my old posts, that they felt familiar and yet alien to me. It's like reading someone else' blog. I couldn't believe that I actually had the courage back then to have written half of the stuff here.

Seriously, this blog is like skeletons in the closet...dark secrets that I've long forgotten re-surfaced as I skimmed through the pages...I can't remember how many times I cringed when reading through it. Despite all the cringe-worthy moments (I know, I know, why am I still here babbling even more personal stuff here?!), I find myself filled with nostalgia and a twinge of sadness.

Regardless of all the unbelievable things I've written (and wished I hadn't), this is still ultimately me who had written this...the part of me which I've forgotten or buried too deep away from myself. That I used to have aspirations, dreams and tried to work towards them but now these passions which used to be so important to me, has become something I sacrificed in exchange for the more generally accepted ambitions. True, age and experience has change my mindset a bit; I now saw a different side to things and have learn to embrace and enjoy them rather than stubbornly shunned them.

Still, it is sad that I have side-stepped stuff I used to love, especially when I still love doing them. Frankly, I blame myself to have lost that old me. Hence this comeback.

Whilst unfortunately I cannot promise that I can turn back to the old me, and as usual I'm not a very disciplined person (ha! guess people don't change that much after all), I'm still hoping to keep this blog to document my life journey and growth.

To those who had actually read this whole post, thank you and good luck. Let us rediscover that person we used to be. Cheers to our old self!

Wednesday 10 April 2013

About Me: Part Four

It's been a while since I blogged (again!), so I thought a little inside story of mine would be more worthy of everyone's here's the fourth installment to my life story! This time around, I'm going to write about those snatches and pieces of recollections I could still recalled and gathered from my vague memory...

Scene 1

Jealousy. YES! A five year old girl to have felt jealousy...horrifying! Though I'm slightly uncertain about the sequence of this piece of memory with the second one (which will be captured next), still I chose to write about this particular memory first as it was quite a fascinating (you have to admit) discovery.
So both my sister and I have this nanny, who left in that particular year, after my family decided to discharge her, confident that we (my sister and I) no longer relied on her care and also because it was no longer economically advisable to do so. I couldn't remember how long I had her for (probably 2 years?), and I apparently wasn't under her care since the day of my birth according to my family; but with my poor memory, it might as well been since I can remember, since I am able to form memories of my own, she had always been there. But that day was her final day. It was natural I'd grown attached to her, so I was feeling miserable as well at her departure, but thank goodness I'd the foresight (not sure if that's the right word for such a young me) to not make a fuss about the whole situation. Though fuss I did not, the resentment bit deep under my throat. And that's when the jealousy breezed in and struck my heart, hard. You see, my nanny had doted on my sister most affectionately and totally ignored me at the side, even though she's only three and obviously could not fathom what was happening around her while I was genuinely upset about my nanny's departure.
However, on a final note, I'm glad to say as the kid I was, I bore no grudge. I quickly forgot the whole incident when she finally did hug me goodbye. Kids are great like that. They fight, quarrel and get up to mischief, but in the end, always, they reconcile. They forgive and forget. Not sure if I could say the same for the old me now.

Scene 2

Love. It was my fifth birthday. Lots of food. Piled up on my table. And of course, not to forget, the biggest birthday cake I'd ever had in the eighteen years of birthday. Honest. You know how it's weird my family cooked so many things but I could never eat much of it and appreciate it! I couldn't even recall, not even in the tiniest bit, how the food, especially the cake, tasted like then! Imagine the regret I had to live with the rest of life!
Self-note: Will only prepare such a spectacular cake when, and if, I had children of my own, and that then they can learn to appreciate what good food is!
However, despite it was just food and a birthday cake ( it wasn't a birthday party), I could feel the love in waves surrounding me. I felt blessed, though I'm not sure the then me had even understood the feeling! But I apparently understood enough to lick the icing off the cake happily (AHA! I know what you guys are thinking.."it's your birthday cake, you're entitled to eat it however you want!", but there's one problem: the cake hasn't been cut yet!) I swear, it was an accident. Well, at first. I accidentally scraped off some of the icing when they were singing me birthday song and I was getting ready to cut my cake for ceremony purposes (with parental watch, and it was a plastic knife!!!). I glanced at my family, guilty and unsure what to do, smear it back. My family give me the green light to lick the knife (on cue, eewww!!! But hey, I'm pretty sure my family's gonna clean the knife!!!), which I did. Obviously, I found it delicious and proceeded to lick off the whole cake. But, as I say, there were parental guidance, hence I was stopped in time before the whole cake was ruined!
Another self-note: Always keep birthday cakes (or any cakes for that matter) out of reach of underage children, preferably kept in a glass case if to be placed in front of children!

Scene 3

Fun! Of course. What's childhood without lot's of fun? My sister and I simply loved dressing up! What's a girlhood like without dressing up? We even got our mom to buy us a miniature high heels for the sake of satisfying our own vanity. Talk about overkill! And then we had shouldered mom's old handbags, and spotted mom's huge face-covering sunglasses, and strut across the living room like a model on a catwalk. Talk about confidence! Wonder where had it all gone to now just when  I needed it most?
And of course, a girl wouldn't be complete without her makeup! Oh those times, how we silently sneaked into our mom's room and steal her box of colorful makeup! I remembered how I used to love those blushes, but I could never get it ( you know how Asians could never blush), and had over applied it on my face. And that was that gave me away! I was too vain to remove it, because that was why I put it on in the first place: to show it off to people. Unfortunately, I did not account for the fact that the 'audiences' that would probably  have the 'honor' to 'admire' my 'new found beauty' was probably only my mom.
Self-note: If (again) I have children, I must educate them about beauty. That their asset is their youth and they should appreciate their own unique beauty as well! Makeup is fun, and probably provide a boost of confidence, but ultimately your beauty is your foundation of strength! Learn how to enhance your strengths, but remember to embrace your flaws too, because they make you who you are. If you don't really like them, well change them! Don't just cover it makeup.

That's all for now. Have an awesome week, peeps! Adios! :)

Saturday 2 March 2013

Hard work does bring fruitful results!!!

Ok, I admit. The title is a bit lame. And it rings off a gloomy premonition that the whole post might just be a flop as well.
But trust me. When I'd first realised that it (as in my whole title up there) could really happen, I couldn't believe it. It's not like I never believe it couldn't happen; I mean my parents had never failed to nag me to study because 'hard work brings fruitful results', forgive the pun if it even is a pun, and I'm pretty sure yours had done their fair share.
Well, enough of this blabbering which had been keeping you stiff in your seat (or rather confused and bored you) and straight back to the main reason for writing this post. Which is to share some quite delightful news with you.
I was working part-time as some of you may or may not know. In the beginning, I'd always felt clumsy and a burden to my other work colleagues. Well, practice makes perfect and this sentence is very true. Despite that, I always felt I'm still never gonna be good enough.
So when my manager had praised me on few occasion, I was pleasantly surprised, but was not greatly pleased, coz I thought he had just praised me out of encouragement and courtesy. So imagine my absolute shock and joyful excitement when I was awarded the employee of the month (despite the fact that there had been no money rewards!)!
I guess what had really satisfied me was the fact that eventhough I initially thought I was useless during this period of time, in truth I wasn't.
And what pleased me the most was that I hadn't felt I was particularly brilliant or on top of my job. all I did was just simply focus and put in every ounce of my attention and effort into my job at hand.
To top it all was also today when I'd open my blog the first time since my long hibernation and found someone still reading my blog! And at the very end, as a sweet note to that, was a person who commented to thank me for inspuring him/her.
You cannot possibly imagine my feeling anbd thought, now knowing that my writing finally did inspire someone! Inspire! Could you believe that?!
Anyway thank you so much to that person. Too bad he/she decided to remain anonymous so I will never get to know her. But I really hope that he/she will check back my blog and see this post to make some kind of reply.
Finally, just a great, big thank you to all of those who had supported me throughout my journey of self-growth and self-discovery. It had been truly magical.
Thank you.

Monday 7 January 2013

Moving out of 2012 into 2013

Obviously, it's 7th January now, so it's not such a new new year now...but still, Happy New Year. And obviously, this year has not been such a happy new year for me, and of course, it is because of year 2012.
To be honest, I never held much good feelings towards new years, but those years hadn't been so...bad. Yea, it's true that they haven't been spectacular as compared to 2012, nor has year 2012 been an absolute flop in contrast...BUT 2012 certainly make me feel like that.
Now that I've begun putting down my jumbled thoughts into more organised words, I realised that it was because 2012 had been such an important year for me. It signaled the year of my supposedly maturity(which I sadly realised I'm not even close), marked the moments of my great achievements (which I failed more times than I succeed), and most importantly, to record the makings of a brand new me. But none of it happened.
Well, to allow myself a tiny space of assurance (guiltily), I did achieve a few, but in the first half of 2012. The second half had been an utter mess. I had allow myself to slack off too much, becoming too sure of myself, which naturally led to complete failure.
Now, in this new year 2013, I can only hope that I'll truly become better this time, and finally stop disappointing my family...

Tuesday 25 September 2012

Making sense of myself

Have you ever had one of those days, or moments when you realised you'd said something that's not entirely true and wrong, and you need to backtrack on your words, but just don't know how?
Well, this is one of those times.
Now, to think of it again, I kinda change my mind...Sometimes, I think my mind sucks, because it just never could seem to make its mind up on some things. Sometimes, I felt like I don't even know who I am. And this sucks, coz I'm already almost two decades into my lifetime, and I still don't know who I am? I don't need you to tell me I'm screwed.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't know if I'm morbid. If I'm really as dark as I think I am. Some thoughts that I have do terrify me at times, but I'm not always consumed completely by this darkness. There were times, and might be in the future, when I am truly happy. When I'm entirely detached from my dark side, and just felt...complete happiness. And those dark thoughts are just vague and distant objects that I couldn't even associate myself with them coz I'm just too caught up with the dream-like quality of pure joy. If that even make sense.
The reason that I wrote this is because, I wonder if we humans are really supposed to be dark, housed by our own terrifying demons that we've to battle to the end of our lives, or just born to be pure, innocent creatures that are only then created to become who we are to be? I can never make up my mind about that. I'm afraid of the latter being true because I'm afraid of who I'm going to be is entirely up to me, and I don't know if I can handle that kind of power. With great power comes great temptation. My own quote. I'm afraid of the former because of the endlessness. When is it ever going to end?
I'm afraid of the unknown. I'm tired of the uncertainty.
And I've a faint suspiscion that we humans, all are. That's probably why we are afraid of change. Because of the unknown.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm drawn to happy sweet stories. Maybe I need something positive to hold myself together? And I wonder why I'm drawn to morbid and twisted tales. Maybe because they remind me of myself, and make me felt less alone and terrifying? Maybe I like a bit of both because I need some positivity for strength and also reality to keep me prepared and grounded. Maybe I need both because I need to keep pushing on, but assured that it's still okay to fail sometimes. But still never ever lose sight of who I am in this final battle of good versus evil?
The thing is, I don't know. I'm still making sense of it all.

Thursday 6 September 2012

I am a hypocrite.

Yes, I'm a hypocrite.
Stumbled across a blog today, quite unexpectedly, and found a little something more than I bargained for. Dark Sanctuary.
The more I read her posts, the more I see myself in reflection. So why? Why am I hypocrite?
Because my writing is so vastly different from hers. Of course, I do not expect to be like her. I do have the wits (or experience, more like it) to know yet that no two people can be the same.
Yet...her words, her stories:
"There would be times when I am too bruised to interact with people. Every word uttered is like a blow to my soul, every breath leaves blisters on my skin. I want them to shut up and go away but all I can do is smile painfully and nod. I prayed so hard for them to leave me alone that I must have trembled at some point. Or screamed. Or clawed my face. Or I could have just continued smiling and nodding."
                          - Sheryl-
-Sheryl- completely me. It's like I'm talking through her. Like the song, "Strumming my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words, killing me softly wth his song...". Sheryl is writing about my life with her words, and it is killing me. It's like, having found someone who's so like you, you reckon, after all these years that it's impossible to have someone live your life. It's unfathomable.
I always thought that when I finally found someone who is so essentially like me, I would leapt with joy. Soared with happiness. That I would never feel that pitiful loneliness again.
I guess I shocked myself when I had felt jealousy too. You see, all this while, I'd thought there's not a single possibility of there being a someone like me. Or even a soul who could even remotely understand how I felt. Heck, not even my family understand me that well. And they're supposed to be theonly one who could ever had a chance of understanding me. But then sprung out this person, this girl who just wrote it all. Say what I wanted to say for all my life but never did say. Here's a girl who's not afraid to own it, and who's just so like me in some uncanny way, that I'm no longer special. And she's better than me, and more special than me, because she said it all. She is being her true self. And I'm not. Never have.
Because I was presumptious to think that no one will understand, so refrain from ever forming the mere thought of even explaining myself. Because I'm vain to want to keep those secrets to myself, in a very sick and pathetic attempt to paint myself a mysterious and dark aura. Because I'm so self-indulgent and selfish to want to share. Because I'm a coward to share my fears. Because I'm a hypocrite, trying so hard to fit in, to pretend that I'm not a freak, enough that I betray myself. But, most of all, because I myself never ever truly understand me. At times, I can be brooding and dark, but sometimes I'm just sad or happy (can't even make up my mind on that one) and confused.
I cannot make up my mind about myself. It could have been loads easier if I could either be Dr Jekyll only, or Mr Hyde only, but I can't. So who am I? Just like Dr. Jekyll, I thrived on my saint, yet also feed on my demons! Oh shoot it, now not only am I a hypocrite, a coward, and a vain, self-indulgent, selfish bitch, I'm contradictory too.
Sheryl and I am no two same person. In fact, we are vastly different. She love her literature; she love her Armand. She's proper, dark, brutal and honest. I? I couldn't even be bothered with Pride and Prejudice because young-uns like me couldn't understand a word they're saying, and I've enough pride to stay away from it altogether just because I don't like any reminding that I'm not good enough. I devour cheap flicks ocassionally because it's slightly entertaining to watch them screw each other up, but mostly because they help take my mind off the fact that I'm pretty screwed up myself (yea, no need to say, I'm pretty pathetic); read way too much action, adventure, and inspector-solving crimes because there're lots of good ones out there (unfortunately, my opinion's not to be trusted) or even if you're so unlucky to stumble across a really bad one, there's always the action and gory details to distract you, or you can just laugh at the writer's painful mistakes all the way through (sorry for being mean). And of course because I can always, almost understand them.
The point is, we are totally different individuals. Even reading through her words, had me trembling with desire and longing so strong for her dark and oh-so-alluring talent. I'm literally salivating. Like that Big Bad Wolf in her story, Red Riding Hood.
I want it, I want it so badly, that it hurts. But I am not her. And I will never be, just as I'd learnt so many times striving to be someone who I'm not. Because I'm a hypocrite.
And so...I'm a hypocrite. Now...who still wants to be my friend?