C C Z H

It was half past nine, and the city was a coruscating kaleidoscope of colours. The sky was streaked with grey clouds, providing me with the daunting prospect of rain. Donning my pullover in anticipation of bad weather, I strode onwards, weaving my way through the crowd. Glancing around, I noticed a myriad of different emotions plastered on the faces of passers-by. Some bore happiness, and others bore anger. Some, to my horror, bore an expression of utter defeat. Their eyes seemed glazed over, their backs were hunched, and their gait was most accurately described as begrudged shuffling. Seeing those dejected individuals brought my own troubles to mind.

The academic struggles over the past months have left me exhausted, maybe even enervated, from a lack of rest. Friendships too, have been a source of distress. Unlike the more innocent years as a primary and secondary school student, the people around me are not half as easy to read. They disguise their thoughts about others, all while hiding gleefully behind their masks. It almost seems as if they have a different mask for each person they meet. Eager to put forward an ideal picture of themselves, they sacrifice what – at least to me – matters most, authenticity. If everyone strives to be humorous, intelligent and witty, there can only be one outcome – an uninspiring pool of homogenetic teenagers. Then again, these people are the least of my worries.

My friends, well, at least who I think are my friends, they are the source of my perpetual distress. While some of them, albeit the minority, make their thoughts about others blindingly obvious, few share their refreshing openness. Most continue to treat even their mortal enemies with indifference, for fear of burning their bridges. What I fail to understand is why they would save a bridge, or even construct one in the first place, if they know that it’s never going to be crossed. True, maybe keeping our options open is intrinsic to human nature, after all, why rule out the possibility of reconciliation? Yet, such behaviour would always be a sign of indecisiveness. And such indecisiveness is fatal, especially if those that care about you are on the receiving end.

I value my friendships, more so than many of those that claim to be genuine. I dare say that I give my unrestrained affection to those whom I feel deserve the commitment. Yet, when I’m unsure of the sentiments of the opposite party, it’s impossible for me to make a substantial investment, be it measured in emotion or time. It may seem cold and distant to be referring to friendships as investments, but is a one-way transfer of love and energies really considered a friendship? It would be alarming, not to mention selfish, if you, my dear reader, veer towards the affirmative. Negative past experiences aside, if I cannot ascertain the fidelity of the people I surround myself with, I’ll always be on the losing end.

CCZH

Maybe it was a sudden rush of blood to the head, but in the space of minutes, I found myself abandoning my breakfast and rushing out of the house. Whilst devouring my pancake, one with a big paunch, no less, an advertisement caught my eye. There was a university fair in town, an it called for the attendance of bright prospectus. Now, it’s a little premature to be callling myself a bright prospect, but being the curious soul I am, I felt it was worth a trip. A black tee-shirt and red trousers, accompanied by my monotone glasses, satisfied my innate desire to look academic. And so I was off, seemingly on my way to discover what the future held for me.

My dear friend Ryan was my company during the adventure, but unlike me, he came with a clear purpose in mind. I was a wanderer, drifting through the exhibition hall, gawking at the flashy posters and suave presenters. Ryan, on the other hand, had the aim of a sniper, taking down his targets with speed and precision. He ended his shift with a gargantuan stack of brochures and answered questions. On the other hand, my only takeaway was a pair of sore legs from standing idly. Maybe I could attribute my disorientation to a lack of prior research, but that would be too shallow an analysis. As I left the crowded hall, I took some time to reflect on the past hour over a cup of tea.

The first thing that struck me was the poise and fearlessness of the crowd. The fresh-faced college graduates had an air of confidence surrounding them, actively engaging the exhibitors with questions after questions. That being said, it was rather alarming to see that a significant number of the parents present there were not accompanied by their children. It’s a rather substantial decision to leave in the hands of parents, isn’t it? The fascinating crowd aside, it struck me that even at the age of seventeen, I had no clear plan for the future. Sure, I had a university course in mind, even two, perhaps. What I lacked, then, was an idea of how to get there in the first place.

This brings me to my previous post, in which I promised myself that I would continue to dream big. As I took my penultimate sip of Himalayan Tea, a cruel realisation descended upon me. It wasn’t a lack of required knowledge that left me eager to leave, it was quite simply, a lack of confidence. I was so awed by the elite universities around me, I forgot that it was still within my capacity to be one of their students. I wrote myself off, hid meekly, all based on the misguided notion that I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t of a similar caliber to the brilliant, sparkling individuals around me. A sigh escaped from my lips, and I sunk into my chair, ashamed of myself. I pledged to dream bravely, yet I was shying away like a coward.

With newfound drive, I rose from my chair with a triumphant roar, only to scuttle away silently, with the eyes of befuddled diners trained firmly on my back. I strode into the exhibition hall with my chest puffed out – only slightly, so as not to appear overly conceited. And boy did I ask questions. I ran around with glee, seeking my future and crafting new plans with my newfound cognizance. Destiny, they say, is forged by action and not fate. The threads of my destiny, I’ll spin them myself. Never again will I be limited by my own fallacious expectations. The stars are in the heavens waiting to be touched, and the assembly of my rocket ship? It begins today.

CCZH

As I lay down my pen, the waves of desperation ceased. I stared blankly at the ten sheets of paper before me, and the illegible handwriting that embarrassingly adorned them. The scribbles seemed to be dancing, or more aptly, struggling to leap off my answer script. Disappointment should typically follow failure, but instead, I felt a strange sense of calm overwhelm me. I lay back, and for the first time in two hours, lifted my head. Specks of light darted round my vision, very much like crazed static. Maybe the gravity of the situation didn’t sink in, or perhaps, worryingly, I performed to a satisfactory extent. An extent which lay within my flawed expectations.

When I was a younger, more impressionable individual, many would ask what I wanted to grow up to be. My answers would mirror my genuine belief that success and greatness would, without doubt, find me. As I aged, my dreams shifted sorely from the realm of fantasy to the realm of possibility. Exposure to the often cruel realities of life punctured my confidence and naivety. The skyscraper that I thought I was building? It would apparently never reach its completion! My responses to that question are now carefully worded, so as not to invite any unwanted skepticism. After all, why promise what I may not deliver?

The point is, all this deeply saddens me. Why am I now afraid to dream? Touching the sky should be a relentless chase, not a discarded afterthought. It struck me there and then, as my script was being pulled from my shaking hands, what was running through my head. It was a little voice, whispering from the depths of my soul, telling me to press on. To never surrender to the circumstances, or the popular opinion. To chase the stars, and fight bravely. To give my all and fulfill the promise I made as a child, that I’ll be a great man. To know everything would work itself out eventually, as it always did. For I should dare to dream, and always should. I owe it to myself.

CCZH

The sky seemed to be split in two, one side splashed with violent orange, and the other a soothing shade of purple. I sat alone, book in hand. Ants may have been exasperating companions on the rotting wooden bench, but I tried my very best to ignore their inescapable presence. Pardon me for my constant trips down memory lane, but the picturesque scene brought to mind my second ever blog post. Almost a year ago, I visited the Chinese Gardens with a bottle of Perrier, in search of a quiet place to reflect. This sure fit the bill, despite the park in which I was spending my evening being on the opposite end of the island. With pleasant breezes and cricket calls enveloping me, the stage was set for a beautiful sunset.

As the sun began to make its way to bed, I closed my book. Darkness began creeping in, like outstretched arms they hugged the landscape, their inky embrace driving the last strands of light away. Finally, the glistening sphere disappeared into the hills, a cue for its paler counterpart to rise. Now, I could go on into a cheesy paragraph, questioning why the light didn’t put up more of a fight, but that would be a monumental bore. Instead, let me end my story here and move on. After all, a second post in two days is deserving of something special.

I know Father’s day was yesterday, but let me take this opportunity to thank Papa again for all that he has given me. Thank you Papa, for being the man I aspire to be. Your strong beliefs and moral values that you have imparted unto me will always hold a big place in my heart. Thank you Papa, for never hesitating to tell me if I’m being a toot. Honesty hurts, but only those that love you can bear to speak the truth. Finally, thank you Papa, for being one of the few people who can both tolerate my incessant rants and provide invaluable advice thereafter. I may not show it, or say it frequently, but please know that I love you. I love you much more than you know.

CCZH

I’ve been reading many poems recently, all while sipping on a piping hot cup of green tea. As pretentious as it sounds, I’ve really come to love these little pockets of time away from the vigours of academic work. A good poem, as I found, is very much like a good meal. It fills you up, and leaves you warm long after. And like any good meal, it’s not meant to be rushed through. You savour it, word by word, rolling it around your head, getting every last bit of meaning and feeling out of it, before swallowing it with a triumphant gulp.

Another observation I made in my virgin months as a college student is the blistering, or should I say, alarming rate in which my schoolmates are finding partners. The obvious blow to my self-esteem aside, it makes me wonder what it feels like to have that special someone in my life. I think it’s truly a blessing, and a great honour, to have an individual willing to make such a huge commitment to you. It’s an affirmation of the highest order, and one that should never be taken lightly. Maybe my time hasn’t come, for I’m still chasing the stars. But regardless of the final outcome, I maintain that it’s infinitely better, as Lang Leav said, to love who we want rather than to love who we can.

Unable to contain my joy, a beaming smile spread across my face. At that precise moment, I realised what a blessed man I was. I am blessed to be able to call these people seated around me, and indeed many others, true friends. I am blessed to have family members that love me unconditionally, who support me regardless of my decisions, and who are more than willing to guide me through the maze of life. I am blessed with the gift of education, to be able to fill my mind with knowledge that will enable me to make my mark on this world. And above all, I am blessed with the gift of life itself, to experience this wonderful universe from my little perspective.

These months have been tiring ones, filled to the brim with trials and tribulations, heartaches and disappointments, with only the occasional ray of light breaking the dark clouds. Bathing in the waters of negativity, I struggled to keep afloat. That is till I stumbled upon my old blog post. It was a timely reminder of the treasures I already possess, and it gave me renewed strength to forge bravely onwards. I often get comments that my blog posts can be sombre, or maybe even a little dark, but this one post is akin to a lighthouse. It guides me safely to shore, no matter how rough the seas, and always without fail.

Malacan is a term that I proudly bestow upon my closest friends, and I’m happy to say it’s these Malacans that keep me grounded. In a cut-throat, sometimes even barbarous world, they are my pillars of support. It may sound clichéd, but I trust and know that they will always have my back. I met some of my secondary school friends over the past week, and to see their youthful faces, and hear their unrestrained laughter again, it sure brought back more than a few fond memories. Seeing them stuff their faces with pizza, and twirl in the evening drizzle, I couldn’t help but smile. And as I sauntered home, brimming with elation, I thanked the moon. I thanked her for what I have, and for what I have yet to call mine.

CCZH

They say great men never leave unfinished business. I dare not say I’m a great man, but I can promise to finish what I started four months ago. The first part of Desire chronicled my rather ambivalent approach to life in junior college, and the second, which will soon follow, will offer a hindsight to my rather gloomy prognosis. Now that I’ve been a post-secondary student for the better part of a year, I can confidently say not much has changed since the golden graduation badge was pinned on my collar.

The personality test administered on me during the first week of school indicated that I’m a thinker rather than a feeler. In essence, the seventy multiple-choice questions that I answered over the course of an hour concluded that I follow my head rather than my heart. Excuse me for being distrustful, but I beg to differ. As much as it seems untrue to those who don’t know me well enough, I’m very much a people person. I love forging and maintaining close relationships with those whom I feel are worth the commitment, and I decide their worth not based on the material benefit they can bring to me. I love people for who they are and how I feel about them, my heart ruling strongly over my head.

What was bothering me then, you may ask. It was the friendships that were simply not to be. I am sure most of you had someone in your life that you thought were the one, but your relationship could not stand the test of time, or the test itself revealed certain incompatibilities that ended it. Similarly, you might have had someone you were dying to be friends with, but the opposite party did not share your enthusiasm.

These words, though written a full four months ago, still stay hauntingly true. In a short span of time, I’ve met plenty of people, some more deserving of my love than others. Attempting to love everyone is a noble pursuit indeed, but at times I doubt even God has the heart for that. At the same time, there are those who possess magnetic personalities, drawing all to them much like how a lamp would attract flies to its comforting glow. Friendships never come easy, and at times, they are nigh impossible to attain. As a firm believer of quality over quantity, all I hope for are people whom I can share a meaningful conversation with over a nice meal. Friends who will always have your back and be there for you at their own initiative. That, above all, is what I hope to find in my two short years as a college student.

“If I miss you, I’d stay back for three hours for us to conveniently go home together and say that I had work to do when in fact I spent the time counting the hands on the clock. If I realized that you were feeling down I’d take time to pen a short letter of encouragement or bring comfort food for you in the pretense of bringing it for myself.”

For confidentiality reasons, I won’t disclose the source of this beautiful quote, but I’m highlighting it as it struck a chord with me. A wide smile adorned my face as I was reading that post, and I carried those pleasant thoughts to bed. Those two simple sentences represent the epitome of a good friend, one that loves you unconditionally and cares for you without seeking acknowledgement. If you, my dear readers, have such a friend, I implore you to repay the silent sacrifices made for you. You might not think much of it, but a word of appreciation goes a long way. For all you know, that might be the first step in establishing a lifelong friendship.

CCZH

The pedestrian light turned green, signaling to me that it was safe to cross. I didn’t move an inch. Standing in the midst of a steady midnight drizzle, I was lost in my thoughts. A countdown timer soon joined the lonely green man, maintaining a steady rhythm towards zero. Snapping awake, I realised I was much too late, for the green man had already vacated his position for his red counterpart. A curse word hung on my lips for a second, but I resisted the urge to release it. Foul words are best saved for foul people, therefore the situation did not warrant its use.

I took a second to picture how laughable a sight I must have been. The Honda Civic that just blazed past must have, for at least a handful of seconds, been a vessel of sniggers. Pressing the tip of my floorball stick against the metal button, I readjusted my stance in preparation for another arduous wait. The green man sure takes long breaks in between his shifts. I like to think that we are our own best doctors, as only we can diagnose emotional sicknesses in ourselves. Not all illnesses have to be physically debilitating, after all. It is possible to have runny sadness, for example, or projectile infuriation. Worse of all? Chronic insecurity coupled with a bad case of self-doubt. Based on my five seconds of self-analysis, that was definitely what I was suffering from.

The smell of rain has always been a favourite of mine, but the same cannot be said of thunder. I used to fear heaven’s rock concert, cowering beneath my blankets at the mere sight of lightning. As the number of candles on my birthday cakes grew, so has my love for thunderstorms. What was once an jarring, ominous refrain has become a soothing chorus. Whenever lightning strikes, I retreat into my room, where I’ll always have a good book and a cup of green tea for company. As I finally crossed the road to my flat, a thunderstorm was all that I was praying for. I could always use some quiet reflection time, but that Monday night called for it just a tinge more desperately.

This last week, I find myself smiling less and sleeping more. Whilst additional sleep is typically regarded as beneficial to your well-being, the same cannot be said when the shuteye is carried out during curricular hours. Finding the same innocent joy and excitement in going to school now seems impossible, much unlike the first weeks. As the wind of change dies down and the dust settles, it is up to me to sweep up the remnants and sort out my life. From the very beginning, I’ve had my reservations on many of my decisions regarding my post-secondary education. I won’t elaborate on them, but I can promise that I’ll make the best of what I have now, for better or for worse. I hope to rediscover the love I had for school, and I’m confident I will soon. Moods pass quickly, and hopefully the dark clouds that loom over my head will too. Light will come. I’m sure of it. Till then, here’s to a better week ahead.

CCZH

Over the course of the past year, I’ve come to realise that I find it impossible to hate anybody. However, before I move on, here’s an admission. Yes, there are people who get on my nerves, and these same people usually get on the nerves of many others as well. Whether its due to the way they speak or act, or in some cases, a single one foul encounter, I end up limiting my interactions with these individuals. I detest conflict, in fact, I would rather play the running game than to clash heads with anyone. While some may see this as a form of weakness, I view my practice as a way to maintain my inner peace. Rather than needlessly infuriating myself by being in the presence of those that don’t quite float my boat, I keep my distance.

I dare not say, or rather, I can say with certainty, that I am not a universally well-liked person. Another thing I can say with certainty is that nobody is, or ever will be. Everyone has their anathema, and their anathemas have theirs as well. I can’t pinpoint when I started disliking these people, but the moment in which I struck them off my “black book”? That I can. Bearing hatred for someone is akin to carrying a cross. It weighs you down, suffocates you even, and worst of all? It prevents you from keeping your heart open. Repulsion from others only draws you closer to the ones you already love. Your relationship circle would become enclosed, for fear of meeting yet more bête noires. In short, you won’t ever be as open to new relationships as if you wash away your existing hatreds.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

I started off this post by claiming I find it impossible to hate anyone. Let me clarify. I have, and still do hate some people. What I meant by my rather bold statement is that I never bear hate for extended periods of time. For whenever I step into their shoes and see their lives from their point of view, the reasons behind every last one of their actions becomes crystal clear. I’ve learnt that there’s always a reason or a motive behind the way people act. Be it insecurity, fear or arrogance, their actions all play a part towards their battle to reach the ultimate goal that everyone seeks to find, happiness. Everyone wants happiness, but all of us have different paths towards finding this elusive treasure. Just because someone’s path doesn’t quite match up to mine is not a reason to hate them.

“In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves.”

I’ve edited this excerpt from Ender’s Game to better fit the context of my topic, but the essence of it remains the same. When I understand the reasons behind the way my “enemies” act, I begin to love them. Love them the way they love themselves. Fighting their own lonely battle as I am fighting mine. Every good book has a prologue, and every good person has theirs. Before judging them, I’m sure to read the vital first few pages of their lives. My perception of them thereafter hinges on this practice. Open your hearts, dear readers, and keep an open mind too. Read the full story, not just the pages you feel most strongly for.

CCZH