Thursday, December 27, 2012

The Six Rules

1. Trust yourself
2. Break some rules
3. Don't be afraid to fail
4. Ignore the naysayers
5. Work like hell
6. Give something back

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

If I Were A Boy

Then I wouldn't be expected to woman up in the house and do the chores like I am supposed to be while the boy is deserving of treating the place like a hotel with free housekeeping service.

Then I wouldn't be remarked as being an emotional timebomb when I experience pre-menstrual symptoms and cry over gawdknowswhat.

Then I wouldn't be a girl who don't deserve any rest after work and worry about the work ver. 2 at home waiting for her, having no time to herself to unwind and do something she enjoys.

If only.

But I'm not.
And no one else feels sorry for me, simply because 
I am a girl.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

It doesn't even hurt

To stop in your pace and to offer a little help to someone nearby.

Reminded me of the little moment when I was in Paris and a blind man with a walking stick was trying to cross the street to get to the grocery store, I took his arm and led him in. No words were exchanged, but I felt the warmth radiating from him that he was thankful with a smile.

Thursday, December 06, 2012

Help

I think I'm in some serious need of maybe some mental help.

I cry so easily. It's scaring me.

Monday, December 03, 2012

Non-existent

It probably bothers me as much as it bothers her; our seemingly non-existent mother-daughter relationship.

I don't know what happened. And I don't want the blame to go to someone else.

But I also want to give up. So badly. I don't want to try anymore. Because I'm not even given the chance to even try. Each time I grab onto the ledge, I get trampled upon, shoved back down to the deep hole.

I find my release in immersing myself with studies. Keep going.
The cycle of eat sleep climb study read.

And I must say, human connection matters. It matters so damn effing a lot that no amount of money and time can buy.

When one parent doesn't work, you try the other.
Where's my other?

Day after day, as I sit at my desk, reading yet another chapter, doing yet another assignment, the movie sounds from the living room make its way through the tiny openings of the glass into my room. It's not so much about the sounds that matter. It's the conversations that go on between my mother and brother. The conversations that I've never been a part of. Sometimes I wonder how minute a difference my existence make in this family. Is this even my family? Because I feel so alone even though I'm surrounded by the most luxurious material comforts my mother could afford. Because I can get by an entire week speaking less than 10 lines to my brother and mother even though I am home 90% of the time. Because there is seriously something wrong with our relationships. I feel embraced by the comfort of my little nest that the room offers. But it all ends there. No matter how physically warm I can keep myself by hiding under the covers, I am so cold and lonely inside. I can't ignore the dull ache that is getting increasingly difficult to manage. I can only muster the courage to live another day, painful as it might be. Sometimes I get drown in my work to momentarily forget the pain. But as I tuck myself into bed at night, the hurt catches me unaware, working its way deep into the recesses of my heart. And I start the day afresh, revving my engine to endorse the drug that keeps me going, because it's the only thing I know and know that I am doing right. It's not the way to go. But it's the only way I know.