Are you okay?

Are you okay? Yes, I'm asking you. Are you okay?

And I genuinely want an answer. Not a "yeah" and definitely not a "I'm good. How are you?" It shows that you care. And I care. A lot. It may not seem so, but I do. 

These are situations where asking "are you okay?" would've been welcome. Really welcomed. 

1) Gets into car crash: "Are you okay? It's going to be okay."

Reality: "You could've avoided it."

2) Keeps talking about plans to go places: "Are you okay? Do you need a getaway?"

Reality: "You should stop making plans to leave."

3) Family problems that you're stuck in the middle of: "Are you okay? We won't involve you anymore because we know it's hurting you."

Reality:

They don't even respond. Because they don't even think that it may apply to me and that's the worst thing about that scenario: when they don't know how hurt you are over it. Because they didn't ask you - not once did they ask you - one question that would take away the troubles that you have faced in your life. 

Are you okay?

And I want to know because maybe, just maybe, it'll help you like it would've helped me. 

Backstabbing you in your face...

One thing that's happened regularly to me, presently, is being called useless. But not behind my back and then someone tells me someone called me that.

No, this happened to me just in front of me, when I was trying to help someone and they called me useless because I didn't take a picture. A simple picture and I'm called useless. I wasn't specifically appointed camerawoman nor was I part of this get together. I decided to take a couple of pictures because it looked like a great photo and, apparently, taking one photo constitutes as taking a whole bunch of photos forever and ever until they never see each other again. And I'm called useless because that one person didn't like any of the pictures I took. How they only looked in photo.

The other time I can't remember, simply because I can't; but the only thing I do remember is that they called me useless. I do remember the feeling I got getting called that for the first time; disappointment because I can't do anything to please them, humiliation because they didn't get what they want, and hopelessness because I'm useless.

I know that I'm not useless. I know that I can do a lot of things some people can't. It just hurts.

I find that there's nothing worse than being called useless, especially from someone who is supposed to close to you and support you with anything they do. Someone who is supposed to believe that you can do anything. And then they go and call you useless. Now what do you have left?

Nothing. Because you are useless.

A fault among many faults

So I won't be the first to admit it ever, but I have many faults. Too many, in my opinion actually. 

But this one fault I have just realised that I have is that I tend to realise the of extent of my mistakes too late. The after effects of what happens after I did something is not something that sinks in until I get lectured. It's probably not the best way to learn things. The worst way probably. 

I am scared that, sooner or later, it will be too late.

Not-an-ode to you…

…my dear grandma

For the first time, in what I think is more than two years, I visited my grandma. I have many reasons for why I haven't visited her, but none of those reasons, I think, would hold well with others. I will admit that they were purely selfish and purely out of guilt.

Before going any further, I should add that she, my grandma, is not alive. She currently resides, and will reside through space and time, in a plot in a cemetery under the shade of a tree.

I know fully well why I have not visited her for more than two years, I think. It's mixed with gut-wretching guilt and tear-filled thoughts about the family she wishes were together. Her family, her sons and daughters, are not on the best of terms, and me, well, I'm currently in the middle of the drama.

I remember that last night I had with her, the last interaction she had with anyone from her family, with great vividness. The stench of sterilisation in that cream coloured room was suffocating. Yet I was still there, because someone should have been. And I wanted some alone time with the first grandparent I felt I had a connection to. I was sitting there by her bedside, as she was in a coma, talking to her about the television shows she used to watch  and what was happening. I told her about what she would like about the new characters. I told her: "But don't worry, you'll be able to watch it when you wake up. Right? Promise that you'll wake up?"

It was the last thing I said to her before departing the hospital way too late in the night; besides "I love you". 

Two hours later, she passed away.

And it has only come to my recent attention that I might have been the last person she heard, I gave her those last words, and she chose not to wake up like I asked. I felt downright guilty. I know it wasn't my fault, I know that it's not, but I can't help these thoughts. So two weeks ago, I decided that I should visit her. Alone.

Only today did I manage to visit. I bought her white lilies and placed them on her grave. I stood there saying sorry for all the things I should have said and done to heal the bridge between her family. I said sorry for not trying harder when trying to convince her to stay awake. I said sorry and I asked why. 

I feel different, for sure. 

This a not-an ode to you, dear grandma, to say I'm sorry and that I will always, always, love you.

It seems to revolve around...

...trust

This week, it's trust. So many things about trust.

One main thing about me:I trust very little people and those I do 'trust', I trust very little.

Why, you - whoever 'you' are - ask? Well I guess you can say that I was raised not trusting anyone.

Most kids are taught from an early age to trust people. I was taught that I couldn't trust a lot of people. A hard hit of reality, I know. So as I grew up, I began trusting less and less. On top of being told to trust very little people, I experienced things that resulted me in realising that trusting people means hurting less.

With me, it always ends up with hurting a little less than I do in that moment. All of my decisions revolves around that concept. Therefore to me, at an early age, I realised that less trust equals less hurt. This then resulted in my 'independence' I mentioned before and why that one boy's statement stuck with me - which happened five or so years ago. Clichéd, I know.

Fast forward to now, and here I am, this week, where my trust has been once again tested.

Case number one: I went out to lunch with a friend.


Case number two: I'm going to go out for dinner with friends.


In case number one, I explicitly said, twice, "I don't trust anyone." And for each of those times, it seemed like she didn't believe me. Maybe that's my non-trust issues for not believing her.


In case number two, I told my parents that I was going out. It ended up being a lecture on not trusting people you don't know because they will hurt you. They always use examples of other people's experiences. 

Sure, I don't like the fact that people say that one should make mistakes to learn of and experience the world, but I also don't like when people won't LET you make mistakes for you to learn from. I know, what are you left with? Well, honestly, I don't know...nothing, I'm assuming.


I do hope, though, that I could be more trustful with people. It's hard not having trust in anyone. It's hard living like that, and I wouldn't want to wish that on the smallest insect or my worst enemy. I don't want to walk on the street and look over my shoulder every ten seconds to check if someone is following me. I don't want that. Maybe no so much as trust, and more of paranoia.

I don't know if I can change (though it's never too late for change), but trust if you can. And trust wholeheartedly. That's really all I can ask of you. You'll be better off with it.

Like always…

…she made it about herself.

Okay, so maybe that's a little bit too harsh, but she did ruin my day, somewhat. And it's my birthday.

Apparently when she's not happy, no one can be, but why should we care. Sure I might be hypocritical because I know I talk about myself a lot, but can't this one day be for me to be happy? Where she won't be able to make me angry or sad?

But, alas, 'twas not meant to be. Here I am, on my birthday, typing this just to not be angry for the rest of the day. My therapy for the day rather than jut drawing.

This is probably going to be short, thus is probably going to be never read by anyone else but me, but it does help.

Self-diagnosed prognosis. Or mental illness. I'd like to think that the couple of years that I studied general psychology makes me qualified, or at least knowledgable.

So the forecast for today: sun, definitely hot, with a chance of rain by 'her' and a healthy dose of KFC.

What ifs...

...rule my life

In everything that we do, in everything that we say we are usually told not to ask "What if?". Especially when it's some life changing decision that we had to make.

Let's think about this for a minute and to help you, here is a part from one of my favourite clichéd chick flick movies - Letters to Juliet.

Letters to Juliet - Letter to Claire

Dear Claire, 

"What" and "If" are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: What if? What if? What if? 

I don't know how your story ended but if what you felt then was true love, then it's never too late. If it was true then, why wouldn't it be true now? You need only the courage to follow your heart. 

I don't know what a love like Juliet's feels like: love to leave loved ones for, love to cross oceans for, but I'd like to believe if I ever were to feel it, that I'd have the courage to seize it. 

And Claire, if you didn't, I hope one day that you will. 

All my love, 

Juliet

That part of the movie hit me real hard because it does have a power to haunt you. 

Though I have lived a mere 18 years in comparison to others which contains many years and so filled with experiences, the good and the bad, some of my decisions still haunt me. 

Like, in true female teenage style: what if bought that top? or What if I became friends with so and so? What if I talked to that boy?

It's not just the what ifs, though. It's questions in general.

I once had this discussion with a boy (Wow, a boy, I know) and though very brief, it was another thing that stuck with me. I was chilling like I usually do with my friends during lunch time and it was a beautiful day outside, so why not sit in the grass? We were talking about being independent and what we would do if we were away from our families with an unlimited supply of money. Coincidently, though I don't believe in coincidences, a friend walked passed getting ready to play soccer with his mates, and heard me say: 'I like being independent.' He heard this and told me, his exact words from 5 years ago, 'Sometimes it's good to depend on someone.' And with that single line and a parting smile, he turned around and off he went with his mates playing soccer.

I actually had that line repeating in my head for the last hour of classes that day and many hours after that. Safe to say, also many days, months, and years later. Sometimes it's good to depend on someone. He definitely knew what he was talking about. He's a smart guy, but what made me wonder was what he really meant by it, by saying it directly to me, even though a whole bunch of us had similar thoughts. Furthermore, he was further away than he should have been to hear something like that.

This haunts me, even to this day, because what if I became dependent on someone? What would happen if I learned to open up?

For the last several years, I eventually got used to people leaving. People leave so often that I became what you can call emotionally closed off. As in, feelings can't get to me, and my feelings can't get out, though I do feel a lot. Sure, I cried during Up when the montage scene came on and sure I awwed when my adorable dog tilts her head at me, probably wondering what on earth I am doing just staring at her, but I feel like I can't emotionally connect to anything. It's really complicated, because I can empathise, I do sympathise, but I feel like my reaction on the outside as much as the inside isn't enough.

What if I'm defective?

It's true when they say 'what ifs' can haunt a person. It haunts me. Every single day. 

I question my decisions.

I question what I say, what others say to me.

I question what I wear.

I wonder at what my life could have been now had I said something else.

And that's what really haunts me.

"What if it could've been different had I simply said hello, goodbye, or maybe even sorry?"

Why couldn't I just turn off my pride like a light switch and reach out to others, be more social?

 

That being said, I do hope, however, that I put a good enough face on for the audiences watching me; a performance worthy of an Oscar. I do hope that if anyone ever reads this, they don't get haunted by questions, but it's hard. Because I feel like I'm going insane every single day with these questions that won't stop flooding my mind. 

However, like a true 21st century, independent lady, I say keep you head and standards high, and your heels even higher. Give a little hair flick to those who deserve it. Give a smile to the person on the corner of the street waiting to cross. Give money to the guy busking on the street with a voice to die for, but remember to give more money to that homeless guy just sitting there. 

Mix up your life a little because it can change one person's life. Maybe for just a second, a minute, or even their day. But wouldn't it be grand if some small thing you did changed the life of someone in a good way?

The last year...

I am a teenager So I'm turning 19. I didn't get the whole teenage experience in my previous years, if you can call all that happens in high school the whole teenage experience. No, I didn't get homeschooled. I went to a regular high school with all sorts of people: guys, girls, douches, nerds, 'populars', the occasional goat (literally...a goat). I did, however, stay away from alcohol and drugs (not that I would ever do either of those things). I did go out to parties. I went to school. I went out with friends. I did have fun.  But I reckon this year, my last year as a teenager, should be a year of something. By something, I don't know what I mean, but something. Whether it be to get a different job from the one I got 5 years ago, finally dye my hair (or maybe even get a pixie cut), or go on that road trip I know my parents won't let me ever go one(my friends are, apparently, a bad influence). I might even decide to blow all my money on a plane ticket. One more week until I turn nineteen and I want to start it with a bang, but like most years, I'll probably go to that little Chinese restaurant in the city that is my absolute favourite for lunch and then have KFC for dinner with a caramel cake with no candles. That's how a majority of my birthdays were celebrated. Last year (my eighteenth) wasn't too bad. I went to dinner with my friends and then I went to a club for the first time. It was good, but it has been my only experience of it. I wouldn't rule it out, but people worked it up to be something so different, when really, the house parties people threw were better because there was more space (I like breathing fresh air) with good music from the DJs (because you could request). This year, for my birthday, it's going to be all kinds of different. I don't really know if it will be, but here's to hoping. I do know, however, one thing that will be different. The absence of a friend. And I italicise the word 'friend' mainly because after today, after what I just received, it doesn't feel like that. All those years of friendship, all of the things we went through just recently, blown out the window simply because they didn't remember my birthday. Instead she was trying to remake plans that couldn't happen today for that day, my birthday, when she should've remembered, because I sure as hell remember hers. Maybe I'm a little moody. Maybe I'm being selfish. But I can be, can't I? You can see it as a relationship that was crumbling for the past could of months. It went quickly from seeing each other 6 days out of the week to not even talking for two months maybe even more (granted that I was overseas for one month and was pretty much unavailable, but Facebook does exist...and twitter, and clearly tumblr). It was ended - a weird sort of ending, also very complicated - three days before I left, but we still talked like we used to. But it was never the same, after this massive happening that broke me down partially a couple of months back (I'm still waiting for the real breakdown and maybe it's happening now, now that I know the things I do today) it was okay. Just okay. But today, no. I have another friend I'm pretty close to, but not too close where I talk to her every week, but she still remembered. Sure, it was in relation to her birthday because hers is the next day, but she still remembered. Am I regretting the friendship? Definitely not. Am I hoping that it'll be the same? Maybe. Am I hurt? Surprisingly, no. I think this birthday is going to be different. That there will be an absence of something - someone - and, happily enough, I don't care. I should, but I don't. Because I'm going out to the city to that little Chinese restaurant with my family and get drunk on 7eleven slurplees. I'm going to sing to the songs on the radio on the way back and laugh uncontrollably when the artist singing gets the lyrics wrong and I get it right. I'm going to eat seven pieces of KFC and I'm going to hog a carton of the chips all to myself. I will cut my caramel cake. It'll be the same as almost every other year I celebrated my birthday. Or maybe it'll be different. Maybe, this time, I'll get candles.