Impulse driven

I've never felt more impulsive than I am feeling now.

It's an hour and a half past midnight, and I can't sleep. I'm hungry, I'm starving, I have a giant urge to relieve my hunger pangs by indulging completely, totally, into food i'm not supposed to touch because of a diet i'm currently going through.

I know what this hunger pang means. First of all, it's biological, a body deprived of its usual staple is a body that currently cries out at its cravings. Second of all, i have no issues undergoing this diet, if i'm at control, and the fact that I can feel hunger and I feel like lashing out, it's my sense of anger and frustration because i'm not able to keep my hunger under control.

And with that kind of impulse comes fear and anxiety. Over everything else, not food related. I'm angry at my financial situation because it's not safe and secure enough for me to indulge. I get angry at the idea that I don't know when can I do a proper handover to the new staff, which would free my mind to take up new opportunities (or whatever opportunities I can find here while I'm still around).

I keep hearing the word "stop" everytime another angry impulsive thought came in. I try to rationalise it. Confront it. Negotiate with it. Those feelings will eventually subside. But, as my most basic desire - hunger - have not been satiated, so too the rest of the anger and impulsive behaviour, it feels like I have not found the solution to all these upsetting situation i'm in.

So i turn to writing here again to get them all out. I did not expect to endure something like this when I agreed to go on a diet for another purpose (not to lose weight, mind you). The pangs were manageable on the first week, i don't understand why is my body reactting even violently now for desire to have the foods I used to eat.

But, I supposed the good thing is I discovered this impulsiveness of mine, the emotional irrational being that decides to emerge when things don't feel in control. I don't believe that hunger can be completely subverted by mental power or will, but i supposed directing my body to consume whatever fats there are in my body to get itself filled up will take awhile.

I have not decided if I want to make tomorrow a cheat day. I won't touch the really heavy stuff, but a nibble of two of the lighter stuff shouldn't hurt my diet. It's tempting, and I haven't eaten something good and satisfying for a while....because of this diet thing....

Bah humbug, it's Christmas. I'm supposed to be all jolly and welcoming, not moaning about my hungry fate and the reactions it's making me do.

Trying to go back to sleep now. Some form of hunger is somewhat satiated after writing them out. Is that what it takes? No wonder some authors write with their stomachs empty.

Feliz Navidad

Step by step

Yesterday - I managed to actually drive to the street where it resides.

Today - I managed to drive into the street and waited by the gateway. Thrice.

I didn't go in. I couldn't. Too scared. I wanted to experience coming back to it alone, not when there are people around.

My anxiety is ridiculous. I feel a huge surge of it at the thought of seeing new people, working with new people. It takes a long time for me to warm to people I know/don't know, that if the other side is impatient about it, then we might not cross paths.

The problem is even if I quit this position because I cannot muster the courage to go back to it, it doesn't matter; I generally dread connecting to people, period. All jobs and positions requires some form of connection, one way or another. And I'll only resign to isolation.

That's why I keep holding on. But..gah, so hard to determine and understand how to go about this.

I have an idea how. But i'll talk it out tomorrow. Hopefully, there's a general direction I can work on. *fingers crossed*

Stop

Stop. Seriously. Stop.
I'm tired.
So much bullshit.
So much money to pay and repay. So little time.
Tired of working on things I don't have passion on
Tired of working. Full stop.
But the bills kept accumulating.
Sometimes I have the engine to keep on chugging and sometimes I feel like, fuck it.
Today's one of those days.
I have all the enthusiasm to go and see the world in the morning. By afternoon all that evaporated. I just don't want to see people. I can't be bothered to go there and face them all.
They can't be bothered with me, so I don't want to be bothered with them.
I say that now, but I know I'm in the wrong. It's the pain and anxiousness talking, the uncertainty and what not.
I hate working there, but I cannot tell them that. They asked me if I'm still around. I'm still around but I cannot deal with them anymore.
Dealing with people is hard. I hate that. I want to rid of it, and I'm slowly learning how. One key point is to deal with them.

I'm supposed to do that today. But I can't muster the courage to do so...I feel like I'm wasting the organisation's time and money.

Yep, I'm still experiencing that emotional cycle.

Step by step

I've been taking small steps forward to experience life all over again. It's been tiring, exhausting, exhilarating journey. Step by step, I see myself turning and transforming.

Admittedly, step by step, I still find myself rooted on the ground, unwilling to move; or looking back, wondering why I even take that step forward when not doing anything seemed so much more comfortable.

Tempting, and i'm trying to resist that temptation. Whatever doubts I have now, i'm putting it to hormones, PMS and whatnot. It's an emotional cyclical thing that puts me in doubt almost at a monthly basis. I'll make the stupidest worst case scenario there is, and once the blood starts flowing, suddenly everything is alright again.

Hopefully this is the case again. And i'm insisting on continuing to make small steps forward. Onwards, upwards, it has to hurt, and it will make me feel like withdrawing, but i'll keep trying...

Otherwise, there's no point dreaming big or carrying out the ambition implanted within me. I say implanted, because i've always have big dreams and big thoughts, but never have it motivate me enough to really push it through. Something else always distracts me, or lack of confidence stopped me from continuing...eitherway, i must try to keep going on for now.

Whee

Joy. Euphoria. Excitement. It keeps pouring out and out.

I've not laughed so much till I'm in tears. I've not joked so much that I laughed till my jaws hurt. Until today.

I should have seen it coming when I could feel my inner happiness and just couldn't stop smiling, even if it is with people that I'm not familiar with.

My heart was open with joy, willing to listen, does not question too much when given a glimpse of other worlds, and is gracious enough to let go of that attachment instead of harping on it, feeling proud or whatever. All I feel is gratitude. Kamsahamida.

I like this feeling. But it is my responsibility to maintain it. Just as I feel braver in accepting light, I have to steel myself to go back and look at the past, where darkness was apparent. The last time I had this feeling, I was too cocky, too careless. I held on to these perceptions that these things define me. When actually, I should define me.

I'm still searching for that me. That me that I can held on to with unwavering spirit and steely resolve, that me that can make mistakes, admit it, cry over it, then shrug it off (no point pretending i'm not a crybaby at this point), and move forward.

But right now, I'm happy with what I got, at the same time, I'm trying to remember that this is a memory I can come back to, not an attachment I should cling on to.

Comfort on hard space

I've never felt more content than now, lying down on the floor, feeling the comfort sinking into my very being.

I love sleeping on floors, those with hard surfaces, not carpeted ones. The feeling when smooth marble or peeled wood meets the skin, feeling like the ground is  in tune to you, feeling your energy syncing itself with the ground.

I haven't enjoyed that sensation in a while; I always bring in worries, anxiety, pressure, whenever I feel like lying down on the floor. It has been that way over the last few weeks. It started with the nervous breakdown and then perpetuated by my eagerness to stand up and be healed.

I only manage to figure out that I can't always be the perfect clean slate to show the world. I have to show the world anyway even if I'm not feeling my best, feeling angry and negative over a lot of proposals.

My problem was I believe my emotions are so strong, if it is negative, it'll be absorbed by others, or it'll render me destructive and disruptive. I always try to contain it by suppressing, I don't want to be hurt and I don't want to hurt. But I have to go out and face the world even in pain, because pain is an experience that will go away if I let it go, not hold on to it.

I've been given a chance to recover from a cloud of anxiety that I shrouded myself in with no way of getting out. I have recovered and responding quite well. But if this is any repetition, any challenge I face will push me back to that anxiety again unless I know how to release, get angry, get annoyed.

Now, I just have to build on faith that I'll recover, and I'll be fine, and when I'm fine, I can develop...spiritually or no, that's not the main focus. Focus is still on the self, that my very being has to enjoy the flows of life, listen and anticipate what's to come.

Om mani padme hum

Tears and progress, part 2

The more I write, the more I cry.

"You want some form of bonding"

I cried to sleep at 3am. Wanting to shout for someone to just hug me to sleep. But I didn't, I withhold my screams but my tears kept flowing. I just grabbed my pillow and squeeze it very hard as I fell into an uneasy deep sleep.

All it took was an imagination gone wild. Of a scene in a hospital whereby what happens if I do let my screams run wild, echoing the whole house, unstoppable, uncontrollable, like a mad person, and no one could do anything but drive me to the hospital, and there, I refused to get treatment, lest it incurs more into my expenses because I was so convinced, so convinced that my family will make me pay for it instead of taking the expenses on.

All that took was a sense of helplessness and loneliness for me to think of how impossible it is for me to live freely, that I bawled. I'm convinced that I am that crazy.

I couldn't cry and ask for a living person to come to my side, so I cried for my grandmother. I miss her badly, I miss having a companion whose love always looks tough but she also craves attention. I miss my grandmother because only she feels happy if we say nice things about how we will take care of her, of the way she has in very subtle ways, influenced how we wake up and sleep, and eat.

I wake up crying more and more. Trying to find the words to describe my feelings, feelings I have buried deep inside but just keep bubbling up to the surface, while still trying to find words to face the world later on.

I realised now that a lot of people babble because they need to let go. Babbling isn't some form of character trait, but something they needed to throw it out there to prevent them from absorbing the negativity later on, so that they can move on with life, so that after the release, they can keep going on and on.

I look at the world in silence but all I feel is suffocation. So my release are all coming out, in tears, in withheld screams, which resulted in more tears. I try to breathe better after every cry and it is a relief.

I have not felt this sensitive and this emotional for a long while. Rebalancing this will take awhile.

But, I supposed, it has to happen. Either I continue to feel suffocated for the rest of my life while resenting the world, or make changes to ensure I continue to live in a way that I'm happy.

The more I write, the more I will cry. It can't be helped, but it will lead to something better.

Tears and progress

I'm so tired
I'm tired of having to think of how else can I boost my account balance
I'm so tired of having to think of maintenance
I'm tired of feeling the inability to chase my dreams.

"You just have to know when to let go"
I want to, but I'm scared...i feel like no one can support me like this.

I just burst into tears for no reason again...I'm not the most unfortunate person on earth...people like that usually do not have a voice online (or maybe now they do, what with the advent of internet these days. Just read an article of how a refugee went through several countries with the help of facebook. Fucking unbelievable).

I'm a lethal combination of being a shitty money saver and yearning to be a big spender. I spend, I really spend, I love spending, and I usually only spend within my means, but it depresses me when I have to count every dollar, taking into account every penny, wanting to spend just that bit more but also want to keep saving more, unwilling to face with an empty bank account with so many debts.

I have too many commitments and I have to cut down

I've been reading my past posts and I realised I have so much negativity, expressing so much fear of the unknown, but each time I remember bouncing back with a vengeance and it felt like I could conquer the world again.

So why is it so hard this time? Maybe I have too much inside...maybe I just need to keep releasing them whether it's through tears or incoherent writing.

Okay, lets switch it up. What has happened during the four years when I've not written anything here?

1) i've became an actual reporter. One that people said looked promising...if only there wasn't so many things happening to me

2) i've learnt German A2 and i'm quite proud of it. Ich habe die Deutschsprache selbst gelernt, dann habe ich ins Goethe-Institut gelernt. Currently waiting for results from a scholarship. Whatever the case, I have to feel positive.

3) i've become close friends with some reporters, they've been some of the best mates of my life. They've tolerated my insecurities, my incessant rants...they even put me back on my feet when I was late to a Ielts test, thus missing one round and unable to pay myself for a second one. I feel grateful and also unable to return them anything.

4) I started a really daring project with my friend, it was a website about SEA youths and their stories, when we did it, it was quite spectacular, but unfortunately lack of funding and our tendency to have to cover our asses first meant the project flopped, and with it, the website was gone too.

5) I wrote some of the best stories about teenagers and their passion for debate, unfortunately, that website too flopped, the one that contains my byline. But I'm not mad, I understand why.

6) My love for music remains, but currently edging towards more indie/psychedelic rock, with some occasional pulls to mainstream pop from other countries, like Kpop.

7) I fell head over heels in love with a guy that was exceedingly better than the ex in every way. In ambition, in status, in passion. But it was sadly one-sided. I went crazy for him, he didn't respond because we were so different, different nationalities, different mindset, and he had just broken up with a girl then. But for that two weeks, it was bliss knowing him. After the depression, i unfriended him.

8) I find myself missing dead people a lot. My dad, my grandma...i keep trying to recreate the food that she makes. As for my dad, I don't need to do much. I'm a constant reminder to my mom of what he was. Only I'm slightly better and I had sought help in dealing with my emotions and pain. I lost my cousin this year too to an accident. But I have a cousin niece and nephew, them adorable cherubs will make anyone smile.

9) I'm not bitter at the ex, at the old life anymore these days...there was a lot of confusion in my initial posts about how I got confuzzled on how i'm going to juggle friendships with him. Time gave a better answer, and in the midst of all that workload, i've lost touch with most of them, some of them unfriended me, i've unfriended them...which is fine, really...because the measure of friendship isn't based on how many are there on Facebook. I've just gotten very blasé about it all...and to think I used to care so much about what he thinks or says...now? Nah...

10) It's difficult to find the peace and quiet within me. I achieved that once...but when faced with new challenges, it's the same tiring story again of fucking up, crying at the corner, not knowing what to do...rinse and repeat...meditation helps but seeking spirituality instead of letting spirituality develop are two very different things. Like I said in my last post, unconditional love, unconditional giving, are theories I can learn and memorise but difficult to execute and push out.

Whew. Positivity is a great thing. I feel a lot of happiness just being able to list out the things i've done over the last four years, even though not all of it are happy, but at least it shows that i've grown throughout the years. I've learnt life lessons...i feel strangely calmer than when I started the post.

Stay tuned, there's more to come. I have so much to pour out.

Everything mess

I want to be everything I've ever worked myself to be.

I want to be a journalist, but the news industry is a fucking disaster, with fucking corporations shortchanging humans as they please, human emotions don't matter, we don't matter, fuck all that. But I'm tired, I can't chase stories hoping for the human heart to open up. My heart, sealed, in so much pain because all the negativity is just swirling around me only. I feel like exploding. I feel like I don't belong. I don't want to belong. Where the fuck can I belong?

I'm a useless eldest. I don't have a stable income. I don't have a proper job. My mom's constant talking about retirement scares me. Worst still, I'm not being understood enough by the family. We get by just by interacting but they don't know me. I tried to tell them and all they do is laugh and look at me weirdly. We are so similar and yet we're not. I fucking hate myself. I fucking hate myself for being unable to organise and operate like a human being.

I want to write but I can't write anything because I'm scared of experiencing euphoria, grief, excitement, I just want peace and stability in mind but to achieve that I have to go through a catacombs' worth of emotions and I cannot contain them.

Fuck you! Why am I made like this? Why can't I just be somebody who seem to be able to manage it all? Why must I be made into this emotional mess of a human being without a proper channel to get out of? Fuck you for making me this way! Fuck you for making me this narcissistic jerk that has no other avenue other than a blog. Fuck you because I want to learn how to love but all I know is to hate.

I really hate myself for having depression, for not having enough money to go see my psychologist, for having a health insurance that covers everything BUT my mental brain, for relying on a part-time job because I don't dare to come back to the working world. I want to scream! Wanting to scream at the top of my lungs at everything that's running wrong with this country, for all the bullshit uttered, repeated, rinsed and then repeat some more. 

I hate the current world that drenches itself with overwhelming nostalgia about a time that has long since passed, that our cultural cultivation goes so much as to repeat yet another cycle. No breaks. Fuck, innovation is so difficult to find, spot, and support. But I fucking hate it, and I fucking hate it even more now that our country is going to be part of that system that supports that kind of cultural hegemony because they needed our economy.

I hate that all the activism in the world will not solve our problems if we don't fix the system and that the system won't be fixed until blood was shed. I hate that we have all our personal worries to settle before we can tackle the big stuff. I hate reacting with indifference or anger. I hate seeing people trying things in vain but with no results and with no difference or impact made.

I'm just so tired, I'm so judgmental about everything and everyone and I can't seem to stop hating.

It's easier to hate because it's much harder to love. I don't want to love anything that doesn't love me back. I'm not really of a sound mind and I have so much inside that I have to keep releasing. It's easier to see how other people love each other (that's why I'm really into family reality series, not the fake-ass kind that America produces. Fuck no). That's why it's easier to empathise with others, when I hear their stories, but then there's always that one person who does it even better at giving.

Unconditional giving, unconditional love and unconditional receipt of those love....I underestimated it when I first learnt it. Now I feel the full effects of it, it's so painfully relieving. Painful because it forces me to let go, but relieving because letting go is really relieving.

This will not be the end of it. There is more. More postings to come. But I have to. The release is relieving. Om mani padme hum.

Why not a Journal?

Why not go back to using a journal? Because I'm strangely bad at keeping paper journals. I don't take care of books that well. I let them go to dust, their pages can yellow for all I care, I don't mind bringing them around the dinner table and I'd just wipe off any food stain there is to continue reading, and I love writing, but not enough to keep it in a book, seeing as I couldn't care a lot for it, despite being quite an avid reader myself.

In fact, this blog contains the biggest collection of writing I've had, even if the frequency of coming here dropped quite a bit over the past few years, because of that perceived notion that I shouldn't be a ranty teenager. Anyways, like I said, I've come back at the right time when attention for Blogger is quite low, and so many writing platforms are out there, be it on Wattpad, Tumblr, Medium, I think I can lay low and not care.

Part of it is perhaps narcissistic, maybe I still want someone to read this and sought me out. Or maybe it just flows better when I write online, with a preferred font, a preferred background, with my identity somewhat less known now.

I have to. My mind's a mess. I'm thinking of doing so many things but without clarity, it's hindering how I work. It doesn't matter now what I work or where I work. When the core issues are there, I can't work, period. Perhaps I need as much verbal diarrhea as possible, just an outpouring of grief, hate, anger (not to the point of bigotry or extremism, mind. I'm not that uncouth, gosh), but a place where I can be honest to me, why I have been avoiding people, why I have been avoiding feelings, why I can't be bothered to explore. Then I can go back to being normal, being able to meditate, being able to perceive things, being able to express anger, annoyance, without being afraid of people's judgment.

I can't think of anything anymore to say. If I was angry at something or someone, it's not bubbling to the surface. But I do feel a lot of anxiety and pain. Perhaps anger, perhaps dissatisfaction, perhaps helplessness.

There will be another post. Don't worry. Right now, I'm feeling a lot of release just being able to write, express, having an avenue. I do have friends to talk to, I do have to find ways to open up my pain, but for now, it starts here, and then slowly I can bring it up to everywhere else.

Unblock the blockage

I'm back. I'm here. I decided to continue writing here again when nothing goes right for me at this age. I was reminded that I spent a lot of time on this and I have forgotten what I used to do.

Indeed, I have forgotten. This was a place that I wanted to bury forever, with no intention of reviving. A place where I can occasionally come back to remisnice the old days and remember how immature (or advanced yet naive) I was back in the days, to find courage in those writings at times when I feel like everything will break.

I thought I was done being a ranty teenager, somebody who just keeps complaining about nothing and exaggerating about everything.

How wrong I was.

It wasn't until today that someone told me, I should write again, because all those things I suspected about myself, that I thought will go away if I started acting more "adult", those suspicions is actually true

I complained a lot about my mom not being able to fully understand me here, and several years later, in year 2015, she confirmed that indeed, she doesn't try to understand despite being given the opportunity to. I opened my heart for her only for her to insist on doing things her way. There was no compromise...compromise isn't her vocabulary.

But perhaps being an "adult" meant that instead of feeling angry about those insistence, it's actually emphathising with her situation which makes me a better person than her being bitter and holding on.

Blogging (or reduction of blogging) isn't that symbol of growing up...it's just shutting myself off.

I used to have social media to do all the expressing but even I grow to hate that space. So much despise, so much yearning for self-improvement and yet so much sharing of emotions that doesn't feel real.

I miss writing, just for the sake of pouring it out, no philosophising, no judgment, no need to put on a mask and tell everybody everything is just fine. I used to think I can contain them, emotions, but god, they overwhelm. They overwhelm so much, and when a human container overflows with emotions, it just explodes or ceased to function like usual.

I've been blocked from emoting and unable to express my desires because I deemed blogging and writing about feelings childish and I'm afraid of beibg judged. But in the age where no one really reads Blogger anyway, who the fuck will care now?

So four years and one (several?) depressive attacks later, I declare this blog open again. I cannot promise that everything said here from now on will be written with logic. Most of it will be emotion. There's going to be tears and unnecessary hatred.

But I need this. It's called My Wild Thoughts for a reason. It's supposed to run wild on an ignored corner of the interwebs, and it's better than keeping it inside me, only for me to explode. I need this to stay alive.

I've decided to stay alive so I'll do what it takes to make sure that is maintained, even if I have to open up an old blog to document my feelings, get my anger out, yell, scream, write poetry, make stupid comments about stupid things, rant, banter, analyse...

I'm not linking it to other social media platforms anyway. If you found my blog active again...congrats, you're my reader again.