I never expected A levels to be so hard.
It's like no matter how much you study, it's never enough.
Maybe I'm not hardworking enough. Or not smart enough. But all that I know is I don't like what I'm studying right now. And I'm not sure what to do with my life anymore as reality creeps in and plops itself down right in front of me.
In class, I keep slipping off during lectures. Like I'm listening and paying attention then suddenly I get lost while the teacher goes on with the lesson.
I get pressure from the people around me. There are so many extremely smart thinkers around me, and they could understand what the teacher had taught after a lecture while I'm still in the midst of being blur and confused. And I keep wondering why others could do it while I could not. Is it a matter of the ability, or is it just a matter of attitude? We all study the same thing, the same lecturers, the same syllables, but why, why can others excel while I still remain slow and trying hard but in vain to grasp myself to the same level as the others?
And I still don't have a single idea on what I want to pursue in the future.
I just don't know. Maybe I need a longer time to cope with all my burdens.
Maybe I'm just thinking too much.
I really don't know. I feel so lost, so freaking lost.
But I know and I'm sure that there's still one thing that will always keep me moving on, even if I can feel my world crashing in. Faith.
Saturday, 4 October 2014
Tuesday, 10 June 2014
I Let Him Go
I did.
We met each other when I was in Form 1 and he was in Form 3. It happened during a Red Crescent camp in school. I was a member and he was an AJK. And the first time he saw me, he was my victim and I was his first aider.
Maybe it was fate. Destiny. Or love at first sight for him.
After camp ended, he added me on Facebook and MSN. He asked me if it was weird to ask for my phone number. Smiling at the other end of MSN, I shook my head and gave it to him. He asked me if it would be weird to buy me souvenirs from Korea which he would be going to for vacation. He didn't know me well, but he wanted to buy me something from far away.
He got me a Korean bookmark and little Korean figurines.
When I was in Form 2, I received my first Valentine's gift. From him. He said he wanted to borrow me his book and asked me to meet him outside the school hall. And when I did, he gave me the book, with a bar of Cadbury beneath it. I love chocolate, and he knew it. My heart was about to explode on the inside while I remained calm and cool on the outside. When I walked away, I couldn't help but let my pumping device flutter in joy.
In Form 3, he gave me a Wimpy Kid story book and a bar of chocolate for Valentines. And on my 15th birthday that year, he organized a surprise birthday party for me. It takes a lot of effort for someone to organize something, you know, especially a party. But he did it anyway for me. He even had his mum bake a birthday cake for me. And he gave me beautiful silver bracelet as a birthday gift in a love-shaped box filled with more than a hundred paper stars he folded himself.
He sacrificed a lot of his precious time for me. Everytime when I had to wait for my parents to come and pick me up from school or something, he waited with me until my car came. Everytime I had to walk to SJK Chung Hua from my school after class ended, he followed me like a bodyguard, even when Christina walked with me. He wanted to protect me, to keep me from harm. He wanted to keep me safe and sound.
He trusted me. No matter what I did, he trusted me real deep. He accepted me for who I was, the girl who seldom replied his messages, the girl who wore saggy clothes, the girl who did not know how to cherish.
There was this one time where I made a deal with him. If he got top 3 in his class, I promised to go out for a movie with him. And he did. He studied real hard and made it there. For that deal which I didn't keep.
After he finished his Form 5, he gave me all his workbooks and reference books which were very useful and helpful. For free. One big box of them. He gave them to me instead of his younger brother. He even bought some from his friends and added them to that box of books.
He was a really nice guy. A guy who was dedicated and committed and kind and...you name it. He treated me like I was the only girl in the world to him. Woah. But I treated him like bullshit. I was wrong. I bailed out. I did not think clearly. I was being freaking stupid.
But when it's all over and the line's drawn with permanent ink, there's nothing else you can do anymore to fix those broken pieces. It's like saying you want to turn back time. But that's impossible.
And all you're left with is regret.
Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was fate.
Maybe it was a lesson for me to never repeat the same mistake ever again.
We met each other when I was in Form 1 and he was in Form 3. It happened during a Red Crescent camp in school. I was a member and he was an AJK. And the first time he saw me, he was my victim and I was his first aider.
Maybe it was fate. Destiny. Or love at first sight for him.
After camp ended, he added me on Facebook and MSN. He asked me if it was weird to ask for my phone number. Smiling at the other end of MSN, I shook my head and gave it to him. He asked me if it would be weird to buy me souvenirs from Korea which he would be going to for vacation. He didn't know me well, but he wanted to buy me something from far away.
He got me a Korean bookmark and little Korean figurines.
When I was in Form 2, I received my first Valentine's gift. From him. He said he wanted to borrow me his book and asked me to meet him outside the school hall. And when I did, he gave me the book, with a bar of Cadbury beneath it. I love chocolate, and he knew it. My heart was about to explode on the inside while I remained calm and cool on the outside. When I walked away, I couldn't help but let my pumping device flutter in joy.
In Form 3, he gave me a Wimpy Kid story book and a bar of chocolate for Valentines. And on my 15th birthday that year, he organized a surprise birthday party for me. It takes a lot of effort for someone to organize something, you know, especially a party. But he did it anyway for me. He even had his mum bake a birthday cake for me. And he gave me beautiful silver bracelet as a birthday gift in a love-shaped box filled with more than a hundred paper stars he folded himself.
He sacrificed a lot of his precious time for me. Everytime when I had to wait for my parents to come and pick me up from school or something, he waited with me until my car came. Everytime I had to walk to SJK Chung Hua from my school after class ended, he followed me like a bodyguard, even when Christina walked with me. He wanted to protect me, to keep me from harm. He wanted to keep me safe and sound.
He trusted me. No matter what I did, he trusted me real deep. He accepted me for who I was, the girl who seldom replied his messages, the girl who wore saggy clothes, the girl who did not know how to cherish.
There was this one time where I made a deal with him. If he got top 3 in his class, I promised to go out for a movie with him. And he did. He studied real hard and made it there. For that deal which I didn't keep.
After he finished his Form 5, he gave me all his workbooks and reference books which were very useful and helpful. For free. One big box of them. He gave them to me instead of his younger brother. He even bought some from his friends and added them to that box of books.
He was a really nice guy. A guy who was dedicated and committed and kind and...you name it. He treated me like I was the only girl in the world to him. Woah. But I treated him like bullshit. I was wrong. I bailed out. I did not think clearly. I was being freaking stupid.
But when it's all over and the line's drawn with permanent ink, there's nothing else you can do anymore to fix those broken pieces. It's like saying you want to turn back time. But that's impossible.
And all you're left with is regret.
Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was fate.
Maybe it was a lesson for me to never repeat the same mistake ever again.
Friday, 6 June 2014
Weirdo
I like being weird. It's not like I am acting and being FAKE WEIRD. It's something I do which makes me pretty happy.
I tell you my policies of my life and you ask me to please stop being weird.
I tell you random stuff and you call me a weirdo.
You can call me any fucking names you like.
You can tell me to stop acting weird and all that shit.
But I won't stop revolving around my globe of weirdness.
Thank you.
I tell you my policies of my life and you ask me to please stop being weird.
I tell you random stuff and you call me a weirdo.
You can call me any fucking names you like.
You can tell me to stop acting weird and all that shit.
But I won't stop revolving around my globe of weirdness.
Thank you.
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Thomas Cup 2014
But behind those blazing inferno you see, there are something more inside them players. I wonder how they feel when a match is about to start. Anxious? Nervous? Confident? And how they feel during a match. And what does one feel when one does mistakes like out balls. Especially when the whole world is watching. When the whole nation hopes on you. When you're in the last match which will determine whose hands the Thomas Cup will be in. When the points are so close and your opponent has the game point.
That pressure. With the eyes of your country and the eyes of people around the world on you, that pressure must be so much heavier than being squashed by a big Yeti.
And I wonder how they feel after a match. What do they feel when they win? Proud? Happy? Outstanding? What about when they lose? Disappointed? Hopeless? Useless? Do players quit because they lose one Thomas Cup match? Or do they keep calm and dig out their mistakes and learn from them?
I watched the match between Daren Liew and Takuma Euda. It was quite an interesting match, and a sad one too, but also a beautiful one. When Daren Liew lost points or made mistakes, I was like OH NO PLEASE NO FOCUS LIEW FOCUS. And I wonder if that was also what he had on his mind. Or not. And when Euda nailed 21 on the last round, Liew dropped his badminton racket. Was that disappointment? Sorrow? Anger? The racket slipped out of his grip gently. Like someone letting go of a rope he held on for so long, knowing that no one's going to pull him up, and let himself fall into a black pit. I might have exaggerated this but that's just what came to my mind. I wonder what his coach would say to him. What he'd say to his coach. I wonder what people think of him. What Takuma thinks. What Japanese thinks. What the whole world thinks. And what he himself thinks of what other people think of him.
But still, our players are awesome. All players are pretty awesome. Being able to summon up courage and play while the whole world watches. Being able to gather people together to witness the same wonderful thing. Being able to spark up positive spirits in people. And becoming an inspiration to many around the world. These players are amazing. Badminton is amazing.
Thomas Cup is undeniably amazing.
Sunday, 18 May 2014
Stop
Have you ever had this weird experience whereby you stop doing something you used to do, or you once loved to do, or something you once had a burning passion for, something you once had a freaking talent at?
Here's an example of what I'm typing about. My aunt, who is my mother's younger sister, used to draw and paint like a pro when she was younger. Some of her artworks were hung all over my grandma's house. She even sold her masterpieces once in some exhibition or something. She was very very artistic, and if she continued to sharpen her skills and keep drawing and painting, I bet she'd be an artist featured on Instagram or some other websites. But no. She stopped. Had a job, got married, had a family. She stopped. Her job working in a bank takes up many hours of her life. So she stopped drawing and painting. Stopped creating masterpieces which she used to compose. I remembered this time which I went to her house when I was a kid and she taught me, my sister and her daughters how to paint. Once. And since then I never saw her paint again.
I learnt Taekwondo before during my primary school years. I don't remember when I started learning but I remember that we all started with THE WHITE BELT. We had to take tests to "upgrade" our belts, like going up level by level. Here's how it works: http://www.butf.com/belts.htm
Ok so I took test after test and ended up getting THE GREEN BELT. And after that, I stopped learning.
After Taekwondo, my mum sent the three of us, my brother, my sister and I to Wushu lessons. We had two coaches teaching us, a very kind and passionate couple. I found Wushu a very beautiful kind of martial art because within Wushu, there are many different types of styles you can learn and different weapons you can equip yourself with. CLICK HERE to know more about various Wushu styles. I was kind of good in Wushu, and was even given a chance to take part in a Wushu competition once. I won a silver medal in the 南拳 (Southern Fist) category, and the 4th in the sword category (but here I was counted as the last cause there were only 4 person in it haha) and I even had a Wushu costume made to wear for the competition. I continued learning until I was in Form 2, and I stopped. After all those years of painful stretching, tired running, swords, fists and wooden poles, I stopped. My coaches used to pick me up from my house early in the morning to Bukit Lima Park for Wushu lessons when I was in Form 1 and Form 2, and treated me breakfasts at nearby coffee shops, but I stopped. Their kindness was overwhelming, but I stopped.
And squash. I started learning around Form 2. Me, my sister and my brother. I had no talents in playing squash, which was pretty obvious from the way I handled the racket to the way I smacked the ball to the way I ran to catch the ball. But I continued learning anyway, for months, until a competition came. It was in Miri, known as Miri Leg. Well, my brother and I got last positions as beginners in that competition. I lost my match to an 11 year old girl. That's freaking embarrassing for me. Then when Sibu Leg came, meaning a squash competition in Sibu, I got second last, which was still pretty embarrassing because everyone in my category were much younger than me. Primary school kids. And so, realizing that I had no hope to proceed with any more squash training, I stopped. Even when the squash committee invited a professional coach all the way from Pakistan to train Sibu players, I still sucked at playing. So I stopped.
Sometimes we really do stop doing pretty much stuff that we used to do. What if we held on longer and things would be different? What if we're just a millimeter close to an extreme change, but we give up? What if that particular thing we used to do was the thing that truly made us happy, but we stopped?
Here's an example of what I'm typing about. My aunt, who is my mother's younger sister, used to draw and paint like a pro when she was younger. Some of her artworks were hung all over my grandma's house. She even sold her masterpieces once in some exhibition or something. She was very very artistic, and if she continued to sharpen her skills and keep drawing and painting, I bet she'd be an artist featured on Instagram or some other websites. But no. She stopped. Had a job, got married, had a family. She stopped. Her job working in a bank takes up many hours of her life. So she stopped drawing and painting. Stopped creating masterpieces which she used to compose. I remembered this time which I went to her house when I was a kid and she taught me, my sister and her daughters how to paint. Once. And since then I never saw her paint again.
I learnt Taekwondo before during my primary school years. I don't remember when I started learning but I remember that we all started with THE WHITE BELT. We had to take tests to "upgrade" our belts, like going up level by level. Here's how it works: http://www.butf.com/belts.htm
Ok so I took test after test and ended up getting THE GREEN BELT. And after that, I stopped learning.
After Taekwondo, my mum sent the three of us, my brother, my sister and I to Wushu lessons. We had two coaches teaching us, a very kind and passionate couple. I found Wushu a very beautiful kind of martial art because within Wushu, there are many different types of styles you can learn and different weapons you can equip yourself with. CLICK HERE to know more about various Wushu styles. I was kind of good in Wushu, and was even given a chance to take part in a Wushu competition once. I won a silver medal in the 南拳 (Southern Fist) category, and the 4th in the sword category (but here I was counted as the last cause there were only 4 person in it haha) and I even had a Wushu costume made to wear for the competition. I continued learning until I was in Form 2, and I stopped. After all those years of painful stretching, tired running, swords, fists and wooden poles, I stopped. My coaches used to pick me up from my house early in the morning to Bukit Lima Park for Wushu lessons when I was in Form 1 and Form 2, and treated me breakfasts at nearby coffee shops, but I stopped. Their kindness was overwhelming, but I stopped.
And squash. I started learning around Form 2. Me, my sister and my brother. I had no talents in playing squash, which was pretty obvious from the way I handled the racket to the way I smacked the ball to the way I ran to catch the ball. But I continued learning anyway, for months, until a competition came. It was in Miri, known as Miri Leg. Well, my brother and I got last positions as beginners in that competition. I lost my match to an 11 year old girl. That's freaking embarrassing for me. Then when Sibu Leg came, meaning a squash competition in Sibu, I got second last, which was still pretty embarrassing because everyone in my category were much younger than me. Primary school kids. And so, realizing that I had no hope to proceed with any more squash training, I stopped. Even when the squash committee invited a professional coach all the way from Pakistan to train Sibu players, I still sucked at playing. So I stopped.
Sometimes we really do stop doing pretty much stuff that we used to do. What if we held on longer and things would be different? What if we're just a millimeter close to an extreme change, but we give up? What if that particular thing we used to do was the thing that truly made us happy, but we stopped?
Saturday, 10 May 2014
Human Heat
This is not a post about science. Or about the human body temperature. Or thermal equilibrium.
Humans heat up quite easily. The inner kind of heat which starts up when one gets angry or upset. That kind of heat scares me.
This morning, my mum and I went to town and drove round and round to look for an available parking space so we could go to the Central Market. We waited behind one white Kenari which waited for a Kancil to reverse out from its parking space so that the Kenari could park. The Kenari driver didn't notice that there was another car (I forgot what car it was so let's call it The Grey Car) which was there EARLIER than the Kenari, waiting to park in the place of the Kancil. So when the Kenari parked into that place which was supposed to be The Grey Car's place, The Grey Car's driver immediately got down from his car, slammed the car door and marched up to the Kenari's driver in full fury. Yes. I could feel human heat radiating from his facial expression and his walk. I thought he was going to stir up a fight or something but luckily the Kenari driver pulled away from that parking spot and gave it up to The Grey Car. Phew.
Just now, my mum, grandma, sister, brother and I went to Anson for dinner. And as I had expected, it was full. So we had to do the same old thing people always do there. WAIT. So we waited and waited and then there was this table of people which finished their meals and stood up and walked away and so we went to sit down but realized there were three other people waiting for the same table too. But my grandma sat down fast and my mum insisted us to just sit down. I felt really sorry for those three people and I saw their disappointed faces when they walked away. One of them frowned and shook her head and once again I could feel that human heat. Sigh.
I wish Anson would make a waiting list or something. It hurts to look at people trying to "fight" for available tables. Not real fights but there's always this kind of tension in between. Oh...I don't know. Maybe I'm too sensitive.
Human heat is actually alright because everyone has it, including myself. But too much of it will stir up chaos and cause catastrophe.
Humans heat up quite easily. The inner kind of heat which starts up when one gets angry or upset. That kind of heat scares me.
This morning, my mum and I went to town and drove round and round to look for an available parking space so we could go to the Central Market. We waited behind one white Kenari which waited for a Kancil to reverse out from its parking space so that the Kenari could park. The Kenari driver didn't notice that there was another car (I forgot what car it was so let's call it The Grey Car) which was there EARLIER than the Kenari, waiting to park in the place of the Kancil. So when the Kenari parked into that place which was supposed to be The Grey Car's place, The Grey Car's driver immediately got down from his car, slammed the car door and marched up to the Kenari's driver in full fury. Yes. I could feel human heat radiating from his facial expression and his walk. I thought he was going to stir up a fight or something but luckily the Kenari driver pulled away from that parking spot and gave it up to The Grey Car. Phew.
Just now, my mum, grandma, sister, brother and I went to Anson for dinner. And as I had expected, it was full. So we had to do the same old thing people always do there. WAIT. So we waited and waited and then there was this table of people which finished their meals and stood up and walked away and so we went to sit down but realized there were three other people waiting for the same table too. But my grandma sat down fast and my mum insisted us to just sit down. I felt really sorry for those three people and I saw their disappointed faces when they walked away. One of them frowned and shook her head and once again I could feel that human heat. Sigh.
I wish Anson would make a waiting list or something. It hurts to look at people trying to "fight" for available tables. Not real fights but there's always this kind of tension in between. Oh...I don't know. Maybe I'm too sensitive.
Human heat is actually alright because everyone has it, including myself. But too much of it will stir up chaos and cause catastrophe.
Monday, 5 May 2014
Something Faster Than The Speed Of Light
The speed of light is 299792.458 km/s, which is 299 792 458 m/s.
Which is pretty fast.
Which is quicker than a cheetah or a Formula One race car.
The speed of time is unpredictable. It can run. It can creep.
And when time flies, it's even faster than the speed of light. In a special kind of way.
There's always this kind of indescribable sensation in one's soul when they realize suddenly that time flies.
Which is pretty fast.
Which is quicker than a cheetah or a Formula One race car.
The speed of time is unpredictable. It can run. It can creep.
And when time flies, it's even faster than the speed of light. In a special kind of way.
 |
| You cannot stop time when it flies |
Like when you're going to college soon and realize that two years of kindergarten, six years of primary school and five years of secondary school are over. That our once BIG examinations like UPSR, PMR and SPM are over. That your friend who have been in the same school with you since kindergarten will no longer be in the same college as you. That classmates are no longer classmates and each and everyone will be walking their own paths. That you have lost contact with some of them. That you've retired from your post as an exco in the Red Crescent Society in school and don't have to attend early morning meetings anymore. That you got your driver's licence and could drive on your own already. That you own your very first ATM Card.
You realize you become more independent. Like being able to pack your own stuff and leave home for some time. Like driving to the grocery store alone to buy milk.
You realize you can make decisions easily without asking your parents like how you did long ago. Like purchasing clothes you think are nice. Like going out with friends.
You realize things change a lot. Your looks. Your accessories. Your hobbies. Your habits. Your sleep cycle. Your thoughts. Your feelings. Your fears. Your family. Your circle of friends. Your social life. Your personal life.
When time flies, it won't stop. Not even if you chase it. Not even if you offer it with money and possessions. Not even if you kneel down and beg for it. When it flies, it will never come back.
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