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It is a curse, really, that I am always troubled by all these feelings in late November. Feelings of inferiority, feelings that I am going nowhere, that I am frozen in time and that the rest of my life stretches out before me like a vast expense of emptiness. Maybe it is because of the weather; after all, it gets much more colder at this time of the year, a kind of melancholy in the coldness that is more than the crispiness of the early morning air which is, in a way, kind of depressing. It may also be a result of the impending exams. Mid-terms are coming, and things aren't looking up academically speaking. But the biggest reason of all maybe this recurrent pattern that began a few years ago, when those overwhelming events concerning people who has departed from my life long ago happened and defintely left a deep impact on me. They changed me in the ways I perceive various matters and shaped me in very fundamental ways. And it left me perpetually mourning over the past, about all the what could have beens.

This is of course, very pathetic. I suspect that I am only feeling morose because of the thought of mid-terms, and to romanticize my feelings I dredge up the past so I have a cause to wallow in self-pity. Year after year it is difficult to get through this though. But it is nothing, really. Only troubles that I create personally to distract myself from what really matters.

That November. Everything is an impossible dream. When I come to think about it, that period really seemed blue in my mind. Well, the desks and chairs in my former classroom is blue. Now this is just a silly explanation to my thoughts. One cannot reverse the clockwork. It is only right to leave things as they are. Things can only get worse when one unnecessarily meddle in other people's business. Everyone knows any attempt to change the situation is only foolish on my part.

So I think I should just let it pass. It is a result of procrastination, a laziness in maintaining intimacy in my relationships and conceited thoughts concering myself. A friend suggested that I think too highly of myself. That is only so true. I increasingly feel like I have a kind of split personality. Sometimes extremely efficient and optimistic, so estatic that I am almost on a high. Sometimes extremely depressed for no reason, lasting for maybe 3 to 5 hours. Sometimes I love company, sometimes I would prefer to have meals alone for weeks to stay away from people. Sometimes I am extremely capable and mature, and at other times, almost like I am experiencing some sort of regression, so childish in my behaviour and thoughts that I am the equivalent of a 13-year old. It is defintely not bipolar though. I tend to exaggerate things a bit. You will believe in me if you know me well enough.

Incidentally, I would like to mention how it is now very clear, that I am very lazy in maintaining my relationships with others. I cannot devote myself to any person around me. Intimacy in friendship at most last for half a month. Then I lose interest so quickly and I seem to instinctively back off from any further development in the relationship. Mostly because I am lazy. It is a very dangerous side to my personality, I admit, that I easily distance myself from the others. I really don't mind being alone, but it is easy to put too much distance between myself and the others without realising it, and finally fail to come back to the circle again. Now that I am still in school, I am surrounded by people I am familiar with daily. But what will happen when I am out on my own years later? Possible that I would become a forbidding loner.

Now I am fretting too much about the future. I want to elaborate on another subject that has been unsettling me greatly for some time now. These days the news are all dominated by things that I do not want to see. I thought that I am blessed by the relatively reserved attitude which our people adopt towards such touchy matters. But now people don't seem to be inhibited anymore. Likely in a decade's time, things would be virtually the same as in North America or those more 'liberal' societies around the world. Dammit, because that's when I will finally become unable to control myself and do all kinds of silly things that will embarrass me in the family and make me extremely rueful on my deathbed. I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. I hate how this issue is developing locally. Could people just shut up on anything related to that word? I hate how everything inside me goes against the way I want them to turn out. I hate my lack of self-control and my pathetic self-discipline. God knows I am solely to blame for my troubles.

But I am digressing. Back to where I started. It's November again, and the only way to get through it and December is to hunker down, work as hard as I could and wait for it to pass. I am just afraid that I will fail so terribly this time that I cannot regain the trust and respect of those around me. I am once again thinking of myself too highly. Anyway. Othello is waiting for me on my desk. This lengthy entry only comes down to pathetic procrastination.

Oct. 15th, 2012

Beginnings are always hard.
The first few months of school are always hard on me as I have to continually compare what I am doing now to the things I did in previous years just to get a slight feeling of reassurance that I am not trashing up my life again. My ideal work rhythm eludes me. All the things that I want to, I can't set them right. And the past always looms large in the background, telling me that this is not the way I should go about doing things. Every year I feel less motivated, less willing to spend time on what really matters. There are distractions. And there is my tendency to procrastinate and play the ultimate slacker.

Just got back my compo. Really horrible. Like all my creative juices has run dry, I could not write anything intersting or informative. Only long-winded and repetitive. Monotonous. Likely that the literature test coming on Wedesnday would even be a more horrifying disaster. Catastrophe. In fact I have to cool down for a weekend before I could face my badly written compo to do the corrections. That's not the worst part about these two weeks. Oh my Chinese. Yes Chinese is a beautiful language but ! I never seem to be able to grasp it well enough so that the words can just pour out of me. That should be normal right. After all I speak the language everyday. But apparently this is not the case, and I just bombed my Chinese compo. I vow to recite the dictionary whenever I have the time. Or at least check up those incomprehensible expressions and commit them to memory.

Everything is an illusion. You are an illusion. You have never existed and you are just something I made up for myself to, as how fiction is for David Foster Wallace, to 'alleviate loneliness' and what. You only exist in those two thin pieces of papery notes in my wallet. Well they are nothing.

It is important not to fall into this trap again. This repetitive cycle of darkness and nothingness, which really cannot help me go to anywhere.

As a matter of fact I actually need to complete that form thingy. I will remind myself that after this thing, after I send it away gleefully to whoever is responsible for this thing, I will become free again to indulge in my molecular biology stuff. My latest passion.

See how quickly I change. Literature got tossed in the back seat for the time being.

You can never tell how I am going to behave in the next moment.

No Subject

Everything brilliant and ruined all at once
CouldN’T  find the words to convey an experience like this

Could NOT comprehend my life
Could NOT comprehend the gluey mess that has become my school life

So mediocre in contrast to all the people out there
How could I make anything worthy with resources like this?
With a mind so rusty and devoid of ideas

Devoid of passion
Devoid of everything, basically

How could you make anything with a mind like this?

My legs are sore

I don't want to walk another mile

Yeah yeah yeah I know I should not behave like this in front of you

But my first response to embarrassment is blind fury
I couldn't control it
Like Hareton.

A Very Short Note

There are all sorts of comparisons in this world, and in one way or another they are essential to our survival. When people need to feel strong and important, they look downwards and seek to compare themselves against people who obviously are less meritorious in certain traits. A school bully may kick the nerd in the ribs and publicly abuse the victim verbally so that he or she may feel powerful. This selective attention or offence imposed on the others feed your ego and helps you settle and be contended with your status quo. At some other point people stumble upon exemplary individuals whose superior abilities make them feel immediately ashamed of their foolish pride that somehow make it possible for them to hold their heads up in the stream men and women they meet every day of their lives. At least, this is the way I live. Does everyone live the way I do?

It is always easier to trample on and demean yourself so as to stand at a lowly position to dodge criticism and people thinking that you hold yourself in too high an esteem. Often you may have heard people making excessive crticism on themselves, when it is obvious that such opinion is clearly false and obviously unnecessary in that certain scenario. It is a way for people to lower the others' expectations of themselves so that even if they fail in the end, the fall from the top will not be that hard because, well, the tower itself is not anything close to tall or something like that. It is fine when you keep it to an acceptable level. The end-goal is to make both you and the others feel better about yourself. Something that people often have not noticed is that such behaviour could sometimes make the audience uneasy, and the speaker is somehow responsible for that. Some hidden part deep in our psyche compels us to draw attention to details that do not conform to the conventional standards or things that in your personal opinion will subject the other to uncomfortable treatment. If a man or woman wears a thick, long-sleeved cotton jacket in the sweltering summer heat, it is very likely that the pedestrian will feel as if seized by an urge to report to those around them that it must be very uncomfortable to sport such strange attire in the scorching heat. The onlookers do not know that certain man personally but out of some need(that is not concern)they want to see him take off the suffocating jacket instantly, not only for his own comfort but that of the others as well. Similarly, listening to people criticizing themselves too harshly will provoke such a response that will not be helpful in achieving the goal mentioned previously. Therefore, it is very important to keep things within a threshold commonly perceived to be acceptable.

Today's entry is so pretentious...

Empty Spaces

Your status here has changed
Beyond repair

That day
When you chose to close the curtains
Go down deep in the leather-black waters
How voices came muffled through the thick glass wall
You decided to sever your ties to her

Nothing will ever be the same again

You will never be able to tell her about that tight knot deep inside
That you will never let her hear about the wound the other her lashed open in your heart

The only person that will seek to understand
Give unbiased opinion
Experience everything as you did

It's all over now
Baby blues

It's a future, a gone future

Never to be recovered again in the unknown depths of time

You erected it and then you wrecked it
You will bear the consequences


There are many things that I cannot understand on my own
Things that I could never speak of to anybody else
All I can think of is you

It is pathetic how I fail to see the superficiality of childhood friendships

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.



Um you see I feel so much like a narcissist. But tonight I need to dwell on MY feelings only. I just need to do it, because it has come back again.

It take you by surprise, some wind that blows out of nowhere, clouds your perception, stones your head, freezes your will to move on and numbs the muscles on your cheeks.Kicks you down the cold, black, deep waters.

O that'd probably be quite nice actually. Being thrown to a tub of freezing water. It will wake me up, and let me stand upright again.

The bracing winds of early Spring.

Tie me up and I'll let you kick and punch me until I get bruised and bleeding all over.

How do I feel. Oh well I don't know. I don't know how I'm feeling.

It's nice, these little pieces of sweetness. I don't really care about them. Sometimes I think I can stomp out of the room and shake away all the chains off my shoulders. But it make me someone in your eyes don't they. Maybe I'll never be somebody to you, but at least it makes you talk about me. Just solely because of that. Huh?

What's my diagnosis doc. Give me some meds then maybe I'll feel better, huh?

It's nothing special. That's how it is now, with everybody.

What do I want
Is what everyone wants

Which makes it rather
Superficial and

Some selfish character

It's just that, and that's all. That's all.
Kind of sums me up.

Ah the film breaks my heart.

"Dear Linda,

This is the end of my book.

The last page, the last shot.

Seeing you to say hello
and good-bye.

Seeing you to fill up
all the empty

To smell and touch...

And leave my kisses
all over your face."

Maybe it's just this movie. Ha. Breaks breaks breaks my heart.

If only I could weep, bleed or sleep

If only I could weep, bleed or sleep.

It's been like this for quite a while now. And it's not the first time that this happens,

only that if I cannot walk out of this, then

what awaits me at the bend of the road will be something

harder to deal with, the effort to make up for this empty period will be so much more tedious.

So still, so empty, borrowing the words of some writer that I am currently obsessed with,

like the "way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo"

I would rather be passionately doing something evil, than to be in this state

So still, so empty.


Once again,

Mysteriously descended into the waters of distress that formed in a day, appeared out of nowhere

Like how the motor road caved in in Shanghai

No one can explain where did it come from, why did it happen, and

Neither could I

Perhaps this is a form of escapism,

Only it is not helping with anything at all.

Give me passion, give me light,

Burn me or electrify me,

Just to make me feel alive.

If only I could weep, bleed or sleep.

So lifeless, so very lifeless.

After Monday...

So after Monday
I feel a little bit flustered

I feel so proud of myself these days, with meetings to attend, people to talk to, and loads of stuff piling up on my side desk
Everyday's been quite successful if not a bit stressful, successful in a way that there are no really terrible consequences in the forseeable future

Um, some question about Biology?
Does Iodine solution irritates?

During practical today, we flooded the starch agar plate for the amylase clear zone test. During cleaning up, (I really don't understand why this can happen) a certain person accidentally and perfectly removed the stained agar from the petri dish, leaving the kind-of-indigo argh agar in its perfectly circular shape on her hand?! It's hard to visualize, but when seen live it's really awful.

Well nothing special, just some updates on how I'm doing these days while I wait for the printing. *done*

Going to retrieve my documents.....

Much love from Natalie before her next post...
A man trudged forward in the knee-deep snow. He was stuck in a blizzard. Midnight was approaching and he fully understood that if he could not find somewhere to stay soon, he would die in the freezing cold. Home was too far away. His feet were numb and the muslces in his legs were taut; he thought of how wonderful would it be to lie down on the soft, tender snow and never wake up. The road was too long. Not that he would make it, anyway.
He was about to give up when a voice from something within him told him that he have to go on. There would be light and warmth and food soon. There was still hope.
He gritted his teeth and continued to move forward. There it was, a small cottage standing in the middle of the storm. He thrust himself forward and opened the thick, wooden door with his body.
It must have been a restaurant, he told himself.  There were two rooms in the house. The larger room was poorly furnished, occupied with some tables and chairs of a worn appearance. The dye in the red table cloth was fading. The only source of light came from the candles on the table, barely enough to light up the room dimly.
The owner of the restaurant streched his muslces as he walked out from the other room in the cottage. He looked very shocked at the sight of the ailing man lying on the parquet floor. A thin blanket of snow covered half of his body, and it seemed to him that he wasn't breathing. For one fleeting moment, he thought that he was dead.
Then he moved, a tiny gesture with the fingers. The owner, a short and hefty man in his early fifties, kneeled down and try to move the man to one of the chairs.
"I'll be right back. You're gonna be okay... just let me get you some soup," said the owner of the house. He glanced  worriedly at the man again. He was trembling and his fingers looked bruised and blue. Then he moved away quickly, disappearing behind the doorway.

The man was now very weak, so weak that he could barely move his fingers. He knew he could not wait until the owner came back. He sensed that his soul was slowly escaping the confinement of his body, slipping away from this world.

He thought about his own life. He had never known warmth. He was always running away from disasters. Sometimes it was a blizzard, and sometimes it might be a deluge. He had been on his feet for so long that he could not remember when the chain of disasters hit him.

The owner had still not returned. It was too late. The man looked hopelessly at the flickers of flame buring on the candle stands in front of him. He wanted to know how it would feel like to get close to them, to feel the warm glow radiating from its brightness.

But he would get burnt. It would hurt. He could not.

But there was no any chance left. Time did not allow him to hesitate. He did not want to live a life without any mark of warmth and light.
He summoned up all his strength and concentrated it at his fingertips. He inched his fingers closer as his life left his mortal being.

He finally got to know what warmth was like. It brought  him such joy. Such delight. He was flying in such an ecstasy.

The short, hefty man came rushing back in the room. He shook the man and tried to wake him, but he couldn't. He had already left. 

Years later, he would not be able to recall details of their encounter that night. But what still lingered in his mind was thedeep, peaceful and contended smile on the face of this frozen man.
I know this is kind of selfish, but I am really, turning this project into one of my many unrealistic, far-fetched daydreams.

I am projecting myself a lot in the project. My personality, thoughts, wishes, state of mind, all that stuff.
What turns out to be pretty lame.

I need a Blair.