Porcine

I write this because I am trying to find myself through my mind.
My mind is a room that belongs to a lazy, fat, stoned, semi gamer and full time procrastinator college kid.

And my imaginary being is in that room; taking the form of an ant. An ant that is trying to weave through what is a labyrinth even for a human million times his size.

I don't know myself anymore. Once upon a time, I was too eager to find myself. So I myself on a quest to find the "missing" parts of me. I set out with eagerness and high hopes but I was unprepared. I was ignorant. I was too naive. I was just a pig trying to fly but ending up being a muddy mess who thought his spoinky tail was wings and his snout was a mighty hawk's beak.

The pig is not a hawk. Nay, he is not even a pig anymore. He is a fool

Turns out the parts of  me weren't missing. I just didn't accept myself. The missing puzzles that I fanatically searched for were merely stuck to my fat back from me sleeping too much.

No climax. No one claps. I will retreat back to my sty. Only to find that I couldn't call it home anymore. I am now lost. Cursed to lie in the mud.

Well, I will turn to mud anyway. What was the word for a certain fate again? Oh yeah. Inevitable.

At least I have Anis Mojgani and his poems.

I am tired of writing, Still haven't found why I am in the mud.

I'll make mud angels then.

Some Random Shiz

Cherry Topped Cherry Bomb

"They're afraid that the moment the laughter stops, all that's left is that gross, awkward kid everyone hated on the playground, the one they've been hiding behind bricks all their adult life."

Read more: http://www.cracked.com/quick-fixes/robin-williams-why-funny-people-kill-themselves/#ixzz3AE8MOolE

Humor is a failed yet precious ability that I try to improve from time to time. Humor is my mask; my failed mask. The interactions between the components of an individual's complex personality sometimes act towards his own detriment in socializing.

The article hit me like a silent hand that slowly tugged on my diaphragm; pulling my lungs and chest downwards into a virtual void in my belly. Your throat suddenly becomes dry and all the moisture heads to your eyes. Thus, a tear or two was broken. Thank God noone was here.

Blasted writer revealing secrets to the public. I think that having random people poking into that cell and disturb the peace of self imposed emotional incarceration is one big no-no.

Another addition about the people described in the article is that some of them are stuck in an inescapable circle. They could not share because they hate themselves for their social awkwardness which takes them back to the inability to share.

Some may argue, if they are socially awkward, how can they even try to be funny? Why can they be the social butterfly instead of being the introvert? Why do they want the attention when they actually should be hating it?

My answer? The laugh that people give to them is their heroin, their shot of THC to illuminate their dark cave. The scar from being shunted once upon a time in their life forced them to live a personality that they hate. Don't even call it a personality, call it a lie - a facade. A facade. Facade. What a nice sounding word to describe an ugly thing.

Crack up humor. Revel in the brief high. Repeat. 

It sounds bad looks ugly, but don't hate their method of social sustenance.

Due to the contrasting values between the real individuals and their masks, we try so hard to be approachable but we rarely feel approached, in the end we drain ourselves to the point that the only thing we have left to give is our life.

To Step Into The Cave

This is the plight of the seemingly happy kid who seems to have everything but lost everything. This is the plight of the ambivert who shuts the world out because it drains him. This is the plight of the little girl who chose to become Rapunzel because her stepmother was right - the world is filled with rotten hearts.

To those who found the heart to care, follow the signs to find these people. Find their eyes beneath the cracks of long hair, peek within the windows of their souls, through the fortification of silence - built to shield themselves from the barrage of discrimination.

Listen to the voice coming from within that is begging you to step into their worn out shoes; to look through the lens of their crooked glasses, and to see the world in their taste.

Perhaps they'll pry open your third eye and show you that this is a world where superficiality is an accepted mentality, where exploitation is a denied yet real motivation, and where being street-smart means being able to be the meanest to the weakest.

Beneath the awkward silence may be an orchestra of ponderings. Isn't that true my friend?

Stardust and hopes

Ever tried reading a book or watching a movie that made you pause at moments to digest all the emotions imposed upon yourself? At that frustrating moment you are trying to untangle yourself from the suspension of reality which is the book/movie. In one extreme, you even resort to not even continue reading at all to preserve the optimistic ideas you've had in mind to resolve the story.

The actresses and actors I see in mass media play a role of characters in my head. Without these faces, my imagination would be filled with empty mannequins.

The words of some books somehow act itself out in my brain, occupied by these faces. It is not possible in real life to let Saoirse Ronan as Alaska and Channing Tatum as the Colonel in one of my imagination of John Green's novel.

To feel the moment that you are reading, to feel our heart pierced; by what merely are Times New Roman Font 11 on a brown piece of paper.

Huh. Imagination can prove a way to escape reality, or on the other a tool to better understand the nuances of reality itself.

Swamplandia, a story that builds up giving you hope that magic somewhat exists in this world but then drags you to the realization that the fairy dust you've been blown with is just cheap foundation powder from an old prostitute in Chow Kit Road. It can't be denied that tIhe world is as dark and cruel as ever.

Speaking of Chow Kit Road; K.L Noir : Red, page 25 - We need to get our hands dirty to clean up the filth in our society. Hah! "Burger With No Sides" is a story that won't get out of my mind.

Indeed, directors, authors, and playwrights do know how to mess up with your emotions. I shall choose not to adhere by the path you've chosen for these fictional characters. They shall have their own ending in my imagination.

It feels weird to be emptying my thoughts here. No thanks to you.

Hate

What if I told you behind my hate for humanity,
I also hate myself.

Things I Would Say If My Parents Asked Anything About My Personal Life

1) "I don't know what are you talking about"

2) "Why do you expect me to share when almost everything I used to tell you received hostile responses?"

3) "Live with these facts, I'm not a drug addict, I don't smoke, I'm still a virgin, I'm a typical lazy youth, my studies are fine and I won't go deeper than that. (smiles)"

4) "Why am I not sharing? Gee, I don't know Mum, that's what happens when you get sent to hostels since you're 13 years old"

5) "It's for me to deal with, and for you to not find out (kisses Mum and leave the table)"

6) "(point behind them and make a shocked face) LOOK! MILEY CYRUS!!! (runs away)"

7) "No thank you, it will definitely lead you to say that everything is my fault and I should do this, do that, blablabla"

8) "No thank you, I will not let you use what I share against me to prove your points or make me feel bad in arguments"

9) "No thank you, I wish not to add gossip materials in your conversations with aunts"

10) "There is a line drawn between my life outside and inside of the house"

11) "According to a Venn diagram of my personal life and family life, they do not intersect. So I wish to not share."

12) A more diplomatic response - "I love you Mum, but I'm sorry, this is something that I cannot share"

13) And finally.... "I don't trust you with my secrets"

I love my parents but I believe that my problems should be dealt alone. Responses of conservative minds regarding the mischief in my personal life is too overwhelming and unnecessary. Last thing I want is my parents judging me.

P.S. Noone has an "open book life". You won't show the quotes of dirty bits you enjoy in a book to your parents or friends right?