I was allowed to think that I might've been using my problems to cloud my life. Perhaps this is why I even write; on days where I feel like complete crap and when I have no other medium besides God to turn to. It's kinda mundane, in a way, recording life's melancholic events in which I should not even harp on, let alone dwell on them. But I guess it's relief that even when I'm left without a listening ear to channel my frustrations to, I can still rely on this piece of blank text sheet. Starting off from expressing how you feel about today's events to the very end of the thread; releasing every bit of anger that had been piled up throughout the week and finally letting it loose.
It feels bitter but relieving. I don't know why it has been this way since the week started. Granted, I forewarned myself that the week would prove to be challenging in more ways than one, and I was proven right. Every day of the week did catch me off guard; from the time when I blanked out on my C3 exam, when I felt so exhausted from running just one round around the rugby pavilion, when I broke down by myself, when I so wanted to hear from God but couldn't, when being nice meant that you were secondary to those who were mean or indifferent, when ostracization happened, when I started acting up for the wrong kind of reasons, and when I felt as if I needed a permanent break from it all.
They say young studenthood is one of the best phases in your life, and though I may not concur with that, I certainly do not object to the statement either. A lady I once met told me how she would give anything to go back to being 16 - young, carefree and wildly ignorant - and it was as if that was the only time where she sensed spring in her steps, following a retreat of the next few mellow decades which subsequently consumed her life. She must be feeling very lonely, I thought. What with being separated by miles and oceans from friends and peers alike, she has now become a middle-aged mother with a bright, mischievous little daughter, whose plaids are one of the most complex and intriguing form of hairstyles I have ever come across. Is she not happy now?
I remember her speaking to me with intangible regret set in her eyes and I could tell that what she missed most about being a teen was the ability to commit a mistake and shrug it off, singing along the tune of 'still toying at a learning age'. It is true, isn't it, that when we see our parents misquoting a fact, or simply not admitting that they forgot to switch the air-con off, we feel the need to prove that they've actually got it wrong and making sure that they, too, know it. What is it that we get out of this? A sense of accomplishment that we've now become one-up to them? Or the fact that we're still teens and hence earn the right to embarrass them of their mistakes which are probably less serious that the ones we're making ourselves?
The week struck me as a harsh lesson that seemed a little too painful for my tolerance. In fact, considering that the week hasn't yet ended, I still sense a bit of a sting after realizing what peers can do to you. Sometimes it is hard to let them know why you're unhappy with the way they are towards you, but you just don't have the heart to hurt them, or stir them up into becoming defensive towards, well, the truth. Sometimes it is these little things that you take in stride, not being aware of how they eventually come clawing at you when you least expect them to. Perhaps harsh advice is somewhat a necessity for people who deserve a wake up call. But what if I make a mistake of causing yet another tiff, or, God-forbid, a huge misunderstanding? Will I, in 20 years time, look back and console myself that I was but a teen, young and unafraid?
What if the consequences were more deadly than I'd thought?
It feels bitter but relieving. I don't know why it has been this way since the week started. Granted, I forewarned myself that the week would prove to be challenging in more ways than one, and I was proven right. Every day of the week did catch me off guard; from the time when I blanked out on my C3 exam, when I felt so exhausted from running just one round around the rugby pavilion, when I broke down by myself, when I so wanted to hear from God but couldn't, when being nice meant that you were secondary to those who were mean or indifferent, when ostracization happened, when I started acting up for the wrong kind of reasons, and when I felt as if I needed a permanent break from it all.
They say young studenthood is one of the best phases in your life, and though I may not concur with that, I certainly do not object to the statement either. A lady I once met told me how she would give anything to go back to being 16 - young, carefree and wildly ignorant - and it was as if that was the only time where she sensed spring in her steps, following a retreat of the next few mellow decades which subsequently consumed her life. She must be feeling very lonely, I thought. What with being separated by miles and oceans from friends and peers alike, she has now become a middle-aged mother with a bright, mischievous little daughter, whose plaids are one of the most complex and intriguing form of hairstyles I have ever come across. Is she not happy now?
I remember her speaking to me with intangible regret set in her eyes and I could tell that what she missed most about being a teen was the ability to commit a mistake and shrug it off, singing along the tune of 'still toying at a learning age'. It is true, isn't it, that when we see our parents misquoting a fact, or simply not admitting that they forgot to switch the air-con off, we feel the need to prove that they've actually got it wrong and making sure that they, too, know it. What is it that we get out of this? A sense of accomplishment that we've now become one-up to them? Or the fact that we're still teens and hence earn the right to embarrass them of their mistakes which are probably less serious that the ones we're making ourselves?
The week struck me as a harsh lesson that seemed a little too painful for my tolerance. In fact, considering that the week hasn't yet ended, I still sense a bit of a sting after realizing what peers can do to you. Sometimes it is hard to let them know why you're unhappy with the way they are towards you, but you just don't have the heart to hurt them, or stir them up into becoming defensive towards, well, the truth. Sometimes it is these little things that you take in stride, not being aware of how they eventually come clawing at you when you least expect them to. Perhaps harsh advice is somewhat a necessity for people who deserve a wake up call. But what if I make a mistake of causing yet another tiff, or, God-forbid, a huge misunderstanding? Will I, in 20 years time, look back and console myself that I was but a teen, young and unafraid?
What if the consequences were more deadly than I'd thought?
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