Contradicting contradictions

I struggle sometimes to think what things I actually love and enjoy. Some days it's video games, some days I love travelling, sometimes it's reading, writing, or whatever. It's a painful way to live, because something you genuinely enjoyed yesterday might not give the same satisfaction today, or tomorrow, or the day after it, and so on.

I'm no planner. I wing things almost every day. What I decide to do tomorrow cannot be said before I go to sleep tonight. I've always been that person. I'm a huge pile of mess, and I know it, and I'm living it, and I don't give two shits about what people think of it. Then again, here I am at the age of 23-something, still breathing, while I'm not too sure about living. 

Sometimes I wonder, is all this worth it? I have a huge planner in front of my desk in my bedroom here in Wellington. There are some jottings on it, but I haven't updated them in like a week or so. I have a large collection of video games in my Steam library, and there are games that I haven't even started playing yet, and then there are some that I don't even plan to play ever. I have mementos of the places that I traveled scattered everywhere. I have books lying around, pieces of paper that have writings on them, but most days nothing seem to matter.

Fuck this is depressing. I'm much calmer now than I was a few months ago though. In fact, I don't even think I've felt this calm in fucking years. I quit the world. It's as though one day I was looking down at all the bullshit that's around everywhere and I just went "fuck all of you", gave a middle finger, and just dug a cave at a side of a mountain, living off the teats of nature and all of its greenery. It's like my whole existence just looked in a mirror and said "fuck it" and enjoyed the ride instead. 

So what's the price of all this, I wonder? Because if I know something about what the fuck life is, it's that everything comes with a price. Truthfully, I don't care. If I die a horrible death, I die. Who even dies gracefully anyway? It's death. There is absolutely nothing graceful about it. For now though, I can be certain about something; I'm having the best time since I can even remember.

***

While I was writing this, I suddenly had the urge of looking through my Facebook photo gallery. I saw an old photo of me, and I looked happy. Then I saw some more. Then I decided to write this little bit after the three asterisks above because why not? 

Why, you ask? 

A Simple Story

Why do we live?

The simplest explanation, or answer, to this astutely philosophical question is

We live to die.

Isn't it? A baby is born today in South London. That same baby will grow up to be, say, a doctor. That doctor will treat patients, cure diseases, make hundreds of thousands of Pounds, then that doctor will die. Why is that? Why do we die? It is, simply put, because we have done enough.

Throughout our lives we do stupid shit. We curse, hit people, talk smack behind people's backs, steal some food or money, laugh at disabled people, kill cats (and/or humans), and so many other stuff. Bad stuff. Not because we are bad people, but because we are merely, people. It's our nature to do stupid shit. It's our nature to sin. Fuck those who say they won't sin anymore after repenting. Aside from prophets handpicked by God Himself, no one is sin-proof.

Speaking of God, why is it that He lets us run around in His world doing all these stupid shit? A friend of mine once said, that is why He is the Most Merciful and Most Loving. The fact that we, His slaves, still run free and are able to do as we so please is a sign that He is Merciful to all of us. He's our Master, and we are slaves. It's a simple dynamic. He creates us, tells us what to do, then leaves us be. He watches though. He knows. He intervenes when He deems fit. Why? 

I've been watching The Mentalist a lot lately. Patrick Jane, the protagonist, said, "most of the time, the simplest explanations are the correct ones," and this is almost always the case in the series when it comes to solving murders. However, that's murder. This is about life altogether. So why does God let us do what we want in this world? Why does He just let us be? The simplest explanation is, He already knows all of our purpose. Once we have served our purpose, He takes us back; we have done enough.

It explains so much. How come [insert name of evil man] is still alive? Well, because he still hasn't done enough. Enough of what, you may ask. Now, that's up to God. Fair enough, though, He did create us. The fact that we can do so much and question so many things is already so much freedom. What slave gets this much freedom? 

Nevertheless, being a Master, He must punish His slaves if they did wrong. It's that simple dynamic again. Why does He punish us? Because He is our Master, and we disobeyed Him. Fair enough, right? You'd get frustrated if a robot you created suddenly says "fuck you Imma do what I want" one day and just does shit. Again, simple dynamic.

He is, again, the Most Merciful. He punishes His slaves just enough. Never too much. If you're a tad lucky, He may forgive you. He is, after all, the Most Forgiving. Another fascinating thing about this relationship is that no matter how hard you've sinned, no matter how many orders you've disobeyed, no matter how bad of a person you think you are, if, and only if, you believe in God and His messenger, He will put you in heaven. Well, after you've done your time of course. That's just amazing isn't it? How much love is that? What kind of a Master does that? Very intriguing isn't it?

Speaking of punishments, we all know the story of Adam and Eve. God created Adam, and then Eve. He put them in heaven and only gave one order. One. They both disobeyed. We have so much to obey nowadays. Adam and Eve? They had ONE order. So don't feel bad that you've done a few stuff. You may not be a bad person after all, you know, unless you kill a cat out of spite. That's pure evil. Anyways, Adam and Eve. Eve committed the so-called Original Sin. What else about the Original Sin that is interesting?

You see, when we die, get resurrected, tried, and eventually get sent to heaven (assuming you believe), that's it. For all eternity. That's it. We don't really have to care about anything else ever. Adam and Eve, they were the first humans. Adam is a prophet, which means he is of very high prestige among human beings. He is our forefather. Our very DNA comes from him. Now, he may have died and gone to heaven, and is looking at us from up above, yes? What do you think he feels?

The Original Sin deserves a punishment harder than any other sin. It's only fair. Adam and Eve were brought down to Earth as a punishment, and they were separated so that Adam would learn his lesson. He did learn his lesson. He repented. He cried and created oceans from his tears. Still he is being punished. Still he sees all the shit we do every day, all the wars we fought, all the killings and mass murders and genocides and raping of this Earth. He must have been devastated about Abel and Cain, yet to this day, we, his children, continue to disappoint him.

We don't realise that do we? Of course not. Why would we? But for countless years we have been called the Children of Adam. We men even have his name stuck in our throats. Imagine all the heartbreak we have caused him. My dad almost killed me because I once failed an exam paper. Adam had to watch for thousands of years his children murdering each other. The saddest thing is, he can't do shit.

Why do I write this thing? It's probably borderline blasphemous. It's just, that line, what Patrick said about explanations, that got me to think about a lot of things. My mind wandered around explaining so many things, et voila. I was thinking about Adam and Eve.

Offended? Please. 

I don't care.

Bang, Thud, Pop. Happy New Year.

Let's see. 

Wow what's not to see. Glaring mistakes, obvious mishaps, avoidable problems, and all in all, heartbreaking attitude. What else happened, I wonder if you wonder. What else happened in the miserable life of this fat, ugly fuck who writes horrible things about himself on the internet? 

Not much, I'd say, but let me tell you a story. A story about New Year's Day. An unconventional one.

...

My dad has cancer.

These words are dreaded by everyone in the entire fucking planet, no matter your social position, no matter your wealth. Yet these words have been ringing inside my head for the last few weeks, and there's nothing I can do about it. This year has been a fucking disastrous clusterfuck of a shitshow, and this is, I guess, the proverbial cherry on top.

It's raining outside. My hands are on the keyboard that I just bought, typing away whatever the fuck that goes on in my head. I need an outlet. A place where I can pour everything and then just forget about it, at least for a while. Yes, this year has been terrible, and there's nothing more terrible than someone you love having cancer. 

Oh don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine. There are lots of cancer survivors out there who can testify. Your dad is a very strong man, I'm sure. He'll pull through.

Yeah, fuck that.

I didn't say a terrible week, or a terrible month. I said a terrible year. You know what that means? It means the whole fucking year has been absolutely vicious to me. It tore me apart both physically and mentally. This year marks the year where I gave in, where I lost the battle, where I succeeded in failing. This year was the year I lost hope, lost faith, and lost all understanding. This year, I was fucked. Hard.

I'm not going back it seems. I'm stuck here for now. You might say it's okay, I can take care of my dad. Fuck that. My dad is an egotistical motherfucker. He'd rather die than bowing down to others. That's the kind of man he is. That's the kind of man he wants me to be. He doesn't accept failure. Guess what I am? A fucking failure is the answer. You think he wants me near him? You think I want to be near him? You think I want to stay and bear all the fucking burden of being the failure of my father's life? I'm his son. I have an ego as well. He taught me well. Fuck everyone else and suck your ego's dick. 

Maybe he's gonna die. Maybe he'll live. One day he's gonna go anyways. That one day, I have been thinking of all my life. I don't want him seeing me as a failure as he goes. It's one of my biggest fears. Yet here I sit on this terrible chair, a fucking failure, and my dad has cancer.

People around me are beginning to lose hope in me. Some lost hope a long time ago, they're just putting on a charade because it's their duty to give a shit. People around me are starting to lose trust in my bullshit. Some lost trust in me completely long ago, they're just saying shit in hopes I stop saying all these stuff. Maybe a few people still care. Maybe a few. Too few. And these people don't say enough. I don't believe them. Why do people who care don't say enough? Are they stupid? Why do those who don't care say the most?

I'm sitting in front of the screen right now, and I'm getting a strange feeling. I feel like....a spent bullet that missed its target. Yeah, that's kinda accurate.

I was among my peers. I was readied for use. 

Bang. 

I was triggered and went off with a loud, cracking noise. My exterior fell off as I flew.

Thud.

I missed and now I'm stuck in a wall. I leave behind a crack and a small hole.

To get me out, they had to use a pair of pliers or whatever. They had to pull me with force. They grunted. 

Pop.

I came out, battered and different than before.

Now I'm only good as a piece of writing on a ballistics report.

That crack and hole that I left behind? Some would look at it and think, 

"What a waste of a bullet."

"What a shit shooter."

"I'll get that plastered."

"Who's gonna pay for that?"

And such. Yes, that mark will soon be forgotten, and I'll still be just a piece of writing on a ballistics report.

So excuse me when I say fuck this year. I've had a terrible year. Let me be and one day I'll be off not disturbing any of you fucks anymore, or just come kill me and be done with it. Either way's fine. If not, just fuck off.

...

Sad story huh. For everyone who announces to the fucking world how wonderful their year has been and how they're looking forward to the next, there will be some poor bastard who is in the same boat as the dude in the story. We rarely hear from them though, because who wants to hear a bum story from a bum dude? We all want to hear happy stories. That's how fucked up everyone is, and yet they scream for humanity every fucking day.

Fuck 2015. 

Fuck 2016 as well.

And fuck all of you.

Sail

I was bored one day, and I decided to open all my apps in my phone to see what the hell they do. Then I opened Snapchat. Saw some random pictures and videos. Then I came across a picture, it was by a friend, a very dear one. I couldn't make out the picture itself, but it was a soothing darkness with different shades of grey and black. It had the time on it as well, and on it's right corner, slanted about 45 degrees, were the words "sail - awolnation". What the fuck is "sail - awolnation"? I wondered.

I was bored one day, and I decided to boot my Spotify and listen to songs. I opened random playlists and listened to whatever songs that came out. They were bleak and boring so in the end I listened to my own playlists, consisting of the usual stuff; metal, folk, 90s, pop rock, 50s etc etc. I then felt this sudden, sort of like WHOOSH sound in my head and the image from my dear friend's Snapchat Story appeared. sail - awolnation. I looked it up. Of course it was a song, I thought.

Blame it on my ADD, baby

I've been in very dark places. Places where fire can never light up. I've thought of the most horrible thoughts. Thoughts that make me shudder and ashamed of myself. Imagine thinking about things, then being ashamed at yourself for thinking about it. How fucked up is that. No, I'm not talking about pooping yourself in public or killing a cat, I'm talking things that would shame generations. Nevertheless, we all do it sometimes, don't we? Sometimes we just can't control our train of thought. Sometimes it wanders into the darkest of places and brings back with it the king of shames and it's entire kingdom. 

That kind of darkness is not your doing, it's not anyone's doing. Where there's light, there will be dark. We know that. It's how the world works. Hell, it's how Star Wars works. But what if you could create your own darkness, then blame it on something else?

Something like, your ADD? Or maybe...

Your demons?

Chance

Have you ever had this feeling of hate without any reason? Like you just hate something just because. No solid reason. Maybe you hate something because how the thing is.

Of course, we all have things we hate because they fucking deserve hate. Like ISIS, or more recently Donald Trump. Sometimes we even hate ourselves, and I'm not talking about some emo episode that one time because you listened to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus or All-American Rejects or whatever the fuck. I'm talking about self-loathing that can only be paralleled by, say, your extreme fondness of your cat, or how kids love ice-cream. That kind of self-hate. We've all done it. Some handle it better than others, some kill themselves. That's reality. Reality sucks. 

People often hate because they are afraid. Hate is a defense mechanism. We hate Trump because of how his ideology is endangering Muslims and Mexicans. We are afraid of change, be it good or bad. That's why we hate. Lo and behold, we human beings are so fucked up we use negativity to counter everything. Yes, everything. 

You must've had a friend who you never wanted. They just stick the fuck around. You hate this friend, for whatever fucking reason, maybe he once took your pen and never gave it back, or maybe she fucked your dad, or maybe just because. 

You must have a certain artist you hate. Maybe you hate the appearance of this particular artist, or maybe you just hate the genre. Maybe when you were a kid you saw a cat die and that particular artist was singing in the background, or maybe just fucking because.

Maybe you hate others because you're afraid of what they are gonna do to you once they get close to you. Yeah maybe some asswipe once broke your fragile heart into a million tiny pieces and boo hoo you can't fucking pick up the pieces. 

Maybe you hate yourself because you've disappointed yourself, or others for that matter, too many times and you feel like a worthless piece of fuck. Maybe you feel you're too useless to live and boo hoo no one is picking you up from the ground.

I've had my dad yell at me countless of times because I used the word "hate". I don't see the reason. It's a word. It described my feelings. It's four letters with a very strong meaning. Most of all, it's not a fucking curse word. I didn't understand. I still don't understand. Why can't I use the word hate? I was brought up in a very, very patriarchal family. Dad is boss. That's it. I never questioned. What a fucking mistake it was.

It's okay to hate. It's normal. Don't worry about hating. Whatever you're hating probably deserves it anyway. You can hate literally everything and it would be fine, at least in my books. What's abnormal is not giving these things a chance.

I'm a music junkie. I mostly listen to metal and other hard music, but I enjoy literally all kinds of music. I'm not exaggerating. Yes I used to hate many other genres because they were not metal. I called them sissy music. Pussy music. Girly music. Gay music. I was brought up in a patriarchal family, so please excuse my casual usage of homophobic insults. For the record, I'm not homophobic. Now, how come I love all kinds of music? Because I gave it a chance.

There was this one night I remember. My head was so heavy yet I felt as though I was floating. I was at a friend's place and I remember looking around that dank and stuffy living room. My friends were talking in murmurs. Low pitched, low volume, low enunciation. I couldn't make out anything they were saying. I didn't give a shit though. The TV was on. It was connected to a laptop and Youtube was on. Someone played some random songs.

It was beautiful. I felt happy. I smiled all through the 3 or 4 songs that someone, don't know who, put on. God they were good. I felt euphoric. I felt this carnal cathartic conscience just bursting out of my extremely heavy but floating head. Goosebumps followed. My spine was tingling. I heard less and less from my friends in the room and more and more of the songs that were playing. I closed my eyes and focused on what the lyrics were. They were beyond magnificent. They were love stories.

Then I realised I was listening to Justin Bieber. It was a pleasant surprise. Yeah I was in the bandwagon of hatred towards the Canadian cunt-wrecker. I listened to Baby back in the day and I was so appalled by it. This was when I hated all other music because they were not metal. I snapped out of my little epiphany and continued to browse other songs similar to What Do You Mean. Sorry was next, then I had some Ariana Grande, then some Nicki Minaj, then more and more pop music. I started to continuously nod my head according to the tempo. I like these songs, I thought. What the fuck.

Eventually the power of the majority overcame my plethora of euphoria. My mates wanted to watch some fucking movie. Can't remember what. That means it wasn't significant enough to overcome my sudden fondness of pop music. Like what the actual fuck I liked Justin Bieber. For the first time in my entire life I liked him. Why? I gave him a chance.

You hate someone? Give them a chance. Two chances. Three. Whatever. Maybe some people are an acquired taste. I have friends who are so stupid people usually stay away from them. Nevertheless, I gave them a chance and I found out I like these crazy mother fuckers. A loved one shattered your precious little red, beating heart? Give them a chance, at least for a fucking explanation. You hate yourself? You wanna kill yourself? You wanna end it all? Give life another chance. 

You were a result of chance, and there are people who will fucking dive into a pool of acid just so you would move the fuck along in life. These people gave you a chance. Use it.

Maybe fuck you

It's that time of the year again. People are leaving. Goodbyes are being thrown out, obligations to make time for those who are heading off etc etc.

I've never been so good with goodbyes. I feel that goodbyes are unnecessary. Why the fuck would you bid someone adieu anyway? Maybe if they are dying you should, but other than that I don't see the fucking point.

But hey, you wanna say goodbye to someone? Go ahead. I won't say anything. I don't agree with it, but I don't give two shits about what you do.

Maybe someday I'll change. We all do. Maybe someday I'll meet someone who truly deserves my goodbye, someone I will truly miss when he/she leaves. We never know with these things. Maybe I'll stop listening to metal because someone shows me another kind of music that resonates with me better. Maybe I'll start working out and shed a few kilos off my ass. Maybe I'll stop fucking up my life because someone is worth not fucking anything up.

Life is full of maybes, so don't you say "we say goodbye because it's set in stone that we wish it to someone who is leaving" because MAYBE that person isn't really leaving, or MAYBE I just don't give a fuck. I like the latter reason a bit more.

I'm sure it's nice that people put an effort to please you in your last few days somewhere. I've never felt anything like it so maybe I'm just bitter. Then again, why the fuck would people make an effort in your last few days when they never gave a fuck before? 

"Oh he's still here next year fuck him I'll hang with him later."

Maybe if people stop doing this shit we won't be having World Wars.

A Middle Finger To All Of You

I feel a bit happier nowadays. I give less shit, I expect less, I care about myself a bit more, and I just give middle fingers to all adversities life throws at me. Maybe the sunshine this shit city has been getting a lot these days have really helped, even though I still spend 80% of my time beside a window.

Yeah Wellington is a shit city. It's too windy, too unpredictable, too expensive, and holy shit I spent 30 minutes trying to get parking just now. Still, I love it. It's shit but it's still lovable. Maybe it's because I've been expecting so much less about everything lately that I finally think I love this place.

The people is nice as well in general. Smiles aplenty, warm welcomes galore, and just enough darkness to keep you on your toes. They're not perfect, but they sure as hell try, and to me, that's what counts. By people, I mean true Wellingtonians. Kiwis. The locals. My people? My people are a funny bunch. I don't feel like I should elaborate, because Malaysians are Malaysians, no matter where the fuck they end up going.

I received some fucked-up news not too long ago. I fucked up. This was not some fuck-up you can just brush off like dandruff-on-your-shoulders-because-you-forgot-to-shampoo fuck-up, it's more like the fuck-up where you consider blowing up a fuckton of rabbits just so you wanna feel like you helped decimate the innocence in the world kind of fuck-up. Yeah I said it.

However, I didn't feel that way when I got the news. It was more like finally getting home after a long-ass drive so you can shit peacefully in your own toilet. A sense of relief. Like getting to let go of a piece of ember you were forced to clench in your fists by the powers that be. It was messed up, and I was so fucking confused. How does one fuck up so hard but felt relief?

I can't wait to go back home. Oh, I don't fucking know when I'm going home because I still haven't bought my fucking tickets. Mom, please.