24

I officially turn 24 today. It's probably the most low-key birthday I've ever had. Then again, I've been wanting to be low-key for a long time now. I feel okay though. I hate celebrating myself. What is there to celebrate? If you've seen or known me recently you'll probably know why. Save your "I think you look good" bullshit because you just want to be nice. Thank you, though, if you actually said that to be nice.

I took a selfie and posted in on Instagram just now. I took it under good lighting and all, but I couldn't really make it look good enough. I had to use a BnW filter. I look scruffy, unkempt, tired, pathetic, everything you can think of when you see Chris Pratt in Parks and Recreation. Fucking Chris Pratt. Look at him now. Anyways, I'd imagine a 16-year-old me would not recognise himself if he'd seen me looking like this. He'd probably work harder and did better things with his life so he wouldn't end up like me, but we all know that's not how life works. Life's a bitch. The ultimate bitch who gives you only one fucking chance. You blow it, you don't get another chance, unless you score some miracle from God and get to travel back in time to rectify whatever shit you did. Again, that's not how it works.

I listened to Fun's Some Nights album recently. I bought the CD a couple of years back and rediscovered it stashed in my car. I popped it in the CD player and had the most wonderful time torturing myself to the sappy, kill-yourself, downward-spiral kind of theme the album showcases. It fits my life so much it scares me. I've also got Twenty One Pilots' Ride and Stressed Out stuck in my head for the longest time. I hate how right these songs are in describing the shit I'm facing right now, but that's why I keep listening to them. 

In a way it's pretty good. I'm on more antidepressants after seeing yet another doctor last week, and me rediscovering an attachment to music pairs quite well with that, don't you think? No? Fuck you then because I need to feel good. Music is supposed to make me feel good, feel better. It used to so much. Video games used to do that a lot. Travelling. Hanging out. Watching movies. All these things I've lost in my downward spiral. It's frustrating. In an attempt to free yourself from all the shit that's bringing you down, you let go some of the things that actually is holding you up, because you're a fuck-up. Frustrating. Fucking frustrating.

24 years old. I've lived for 24 years. I'm going to say something cheesy, so please forgive me. I've lived for 24 years, but I've never felt alive in years now. Fucking hell I actually smiled while typing that. There's a reason it's cheesy, the same reason why stereotypes exist and why you're an idiot; it's *generally* true. It fits so well in so many lives. I'm part of the masses now. I'm disappointed in myself. 24 years and I'm part of some cheesy expression. 

Don't Ask

Alas, here I am, the very embodiment of disappointment, failure, travesty, and guilt. I'm home. I'm currently writing this on my desk, in my room, in Malaysia, The Land of Heat, Bad Traffic, and Cheap Food. To say that the ride has been wild is a severe understatement it's almost criminal. It was a total of 5 and a half fucking years. 5 and a half fucking years washed down the drain. 5 and a half fucking years. In those 5 and a half fucking years I have achieved nothing.

It's truly a tragedy when someone loses 5 and a half fucking years of his/her life. In my case, though, the tragedy has just begun. To be honest, my whole entire existence has been a tragedy. I honestly believe that my family are the only people who don't see my existence as one. And that's stretching it. Anyhow. it may seem very, very attention-seeking that I'm writing the way I am right now, maybe even for as long as I've been writing on this goddamn blog, and you know what? Fuck it. I will chronicle my whole entire grief, misery, depression, tragedy, every bit of sad story I can here on this page until the day I have no more to give. I pray to anything that can listen that that day may soon come. Please fucking come.

Despite all that though, I was told that I'm still very young. Am I young? I feel old. I feel ancient. I feel like I've been carrying a fucking hill on my back and I can't even remember when that hill got there. Hopefully this hill behind my back doesn't evolve into a mountain or something, because my back can't stand much more of this shit. I constantly have back pains nowadays (literally) and I really think I won't be standing straight in a decade or so. I'll have a hunch on my back. I'll be like the guy who rings the bell of the old Notre Dame, just not as hideous. You've seen the Disney movie right? 

I'll be turning 24 in a week or so. If I were a professional football player I'd be peaking right about now. If I were a professional gamer I'd be slowly plateauing. If I were an office worker I'd still be a rookie. Of course there are people out there who are flowing money out of their asses by my age, but hey, I look into the mirror every single day and you know what? I got nothing. Literally nothing. It's like my life hasn't even started yet. I'm an infant. An infant who's all hairy and shit. And I don't know where to start. Where do I start looking when I am where I am right now? What do I do when I am what I am right now? Who do I see when I am who I am right now? 

I'm embarrassed, yet I'm still writing this. It's one of the very few things I have for myself at this point. I'm trying to force myself to like video games again, because I have a half-decent computer that can run decent games. Other than that, I don't have much anymore. I've cut ties, I've given up so many things, all in the name of keeping whatever sanity I have left. It's tempting to lose everything and just give up my sanity at this point, trust me. Just think of all the perks I'd get; I won't need to care for shit, I'd get easier parking, discounts everywhere, I'd even get a nice, comfortable place to stay where I can do literally anything I want. But without sanity I'd be without the only thing that wants me to keep going. Now that's a contradiction, I know, but it is what it is, and I can be very cryptic and confusing. Hell even I don't understand it. Or maybe I still have enough pride in me to not want to admit it. Either way, sanity and ego can go a long way, and I'll take what I can get. Something something beggars something choosers or some shit.

Someone told me, "you'll bounce back."

Never have I not believed anyone as much as the person who said that. I honestly don't know what's next. I'm hoping to use my need for adrenaline to keep me from fainting at the thought of "what's next." I'm hoping it will be enough to keep me well enough to see "what's next." What's next. What is next. 3 words that can shut down a fully functioning brain of any person, given the right circumstances. Well my brain hasn't stopped yet, and I fully intend to find out what the fuck is next for dear little old me. And all of you are welcome to know. 

Just don't ask because I'm just gonna say I'm okay.

p/s I know what time of year it is so save your preaching for someone who actually cares. I'll say what I want.

Ego and shit

I'm in a rut. I can't really write much, I don't really go out much, and my sleep pattern is all but fucked. It's like seriously fucked. I haven't seen the light of day for, I think, 3 days now. It feels so bad. It feels like I've ran a marathon, only no calories were burnt in the process, only my sanity. Yeah, I still have my sanity, if that's what you're thinking.

I miss a few things in my life. I really hate admitting it. I'm stubborn. I blame my dad for that. He has an ego the size of a mountain, and I'm closely following behind him like a parasite. Nevertheless here I am, admitting my shortcomings to anyone who gives a shit. Thanks though, for giving a shit. If you don't, then I don't give a shit. 

It's hard for me to tell people what I think. You see, I have this irrational fear of people hating me. For that, I credit the bastards at an old school of mine. Maybe some of you know who they are, maybe some of you are the very bastards that have made my life miserable for the last 10 years or so, or maybe you don't know shit, and that's okay. I rarely tell anyone anything anyways. I mean, how do people do it? How do people say what they think to other people? How are people not afraid of other people's opinions? I don't understand.

There are alarming things about me, I can admit to that. But don't give me bullshit like "thank God I don't have issues like this guy" because guess what? You're fucked in your own way. Everyone is. We are all fucked one way or another. Sometimes we just don't realise it, or sometimes we don't wanna admit to it. Look into a mirror and just ask yourself, are you fucked? If you take even a split second to second guess yourself, then there's something. If not, hey! You don't exist. Or you're delusional. Take a pick.

Anyways, all I think about nowadays is how the fuck did I get into this situation. I saw Deadpool the other day (finally) and he said something along the lines of when you find yourself in a downward spiral, you can trace it down to one giant fuck-up that started it all. Wade's was his voluntary participation to be a guinea pig for Ajax/Francis. I'm still figuring out mine. Maybe we all are still figuring out the fuck-up that started it all.

Or maybe all of you just don't, can't, and won't understand. I've had people do those to me.

Now that I think of it, I've said enough. If I say more, all you fuckers do is just shake your heads and feel bad about me. I don't want nor do I need pity. Or maybe you fuckers will laugh at how pathetic I'm being, writing all these dark and weird stuff about myself. Or maybe you fuckers are gonna use whatever I've said against me one day or some shit. All I've longed for, all I've ever wanted, all I ask for is....

`

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Ha! Got you. 

Idiot.

B.A.D.

It's been a bad week. I mean, nothing bad actually happened, it's just that it's been a bad week. It's like that for me. One day I can feel all sunshine and butterflies then the next it can turn into thunderstorm and flies. There's no middle ground, no cloud building up, no dying butterflies, no nothing. I used to say "fuck my life" but now I just say "here we go again."

Oh and fuck you if you say "just chill out man blablabla..."

It's nothing I can control. It just comes. One day it's rapture and the next apocalypse. Sometimes they happen in the same day, more than once. It's violent, the change. It's also exhausting, frustrating, and full of consequence. When you're somewhere very high, it hurts more when you come crashing down like a sack of potatoes. 

We always whine about how our life is not perfect and how we don't have money and how we have to work or study and how shit things happen to us all the fucking time. What's a perfect life anyway? Has anyone ever stopped and thought about what a perfect life is? Okay so you want a lot of money doing as little work as possible, you want to be happily married with kids (or no kids, whatever), you want a big house, a big car, yadayadayada. Have you ever thought that having all that is not as perfect as it seems?

In life there is a primal need for things to be balanced. Think about it. Without balance, shit just falls over. If you think achieving all those "perfect" things is like crossing the finish line, you're fucked. I'm not gonna explain further because it's not actually my place to talk about shit I don't have, but I'm sure all of you have the ability to think about consequences of all your actions. If not, why are you able to read the shit I'm writing?

I'm feeling so bitter today. I've been wanting to write something but nothing seems to be coming out, then I saw something on the internet that made me feel so bitter. I'm not saying what it is because I don't think that person wants to know how I'm actually feeling. Besides, people only like it if we're happy for them right? No one wants people coming up to their faces saying "fuck you and your happiness" or "may you crash and burn" or whatever. Fuck whoever coined the saying honesty is the best policy because most of the time, it's not. 

Anyways I might be quitting anytime soon. What am I quitting? I won't tell. It's probably gonna be publicly known when I quit it anyways so why bother? You fuckers just love talking about what people are doing am I right? All you fuckers want to know what is it I'm quitting, and most of you shits don't even have the fucking balls to even ask me decently. That's just how we are, and I don't blame you. We're all idiots. We're all pussies. We prefer the easier way of assuming instead of the harder way which is finding out. Well, in that case, good fucking luck having that perfect life.

Okay so for clarification purposes, quitting here doesn't mean I'm going to kill myself. It sounds perfectly plausible, I know, but no, it's not suicide. I haven't thought of suicide for a long time and I want to keep it that way. Sure I'm falling down right now, but I've not hit rock bottom just yet. Yes, once I hit rock bottom I will be thinking of suicide. It won't be the first time. 

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.

Sheep vs Wolf

"Hey, do you think me doing [insert whatever life decision here] is bad or good? Do you think people will think of me in [insert whatever negative thing here].?"

Why would you ask me this? Why would you ask anyone this? You're an adult, you know what's right and what's wrong. You also know what you want and what you don't want in life, or at least in your current phase in life. What I think of it is, or what anyone thinks of it for that matter, is irrelevant, unless you want it to.

So let me ask YOU a question, do you want my opinion to matter in your life decisions?

Need Patrick Jane or Cal Lightman

Have you ever told other people one thing, but do another? Don't shit me, because I know everyone does that. I do it all the time. I tell people I'll be studying for a test or something, but I end up binge watching The Inbetweeners on fucking Netflix. Why do we do this? Why do you do it?

Well I do it because I'm a liar.

We all lie. Again, don't give me any of your crap because WE ALL LIE. What degree our lies go to is a different matter. Why we lie is also a different matter. Also, there's a distinction between lying and being a liar. Me? I'm a fucking liar.

I lie everyday. I lie to everyone. Most people have tells that show they are lying, but me? I've been lying my whole life I don't have a tell, or maybe people just can't find it yet. Hell, even I don't know my tell. Lies just come out of my mouth like chocolate milk flowing to the mouth of a fatso.

I even lie to myself, and I believe them.

Fuck me I have issues.

Postal

It's funny, spending the night in a hospital ward because someone asked you to. Sure, you feel shitty and hopeless and helpless and maybe a little suicidal, but who would've guessed someone asked you, nicely, to go to a hospital to get checked out?

It's been a weird few weeks. It's three-quarters past 2015 and I still feel the same way I did mid 2014. I watched TI4 and TI5 and saw a shitload of changes to all Dota 2 teams. Honestly all the teams nowadays change like, as Katy Perry famously says, a girl changes clothes. It makes you feel old, how the Dota calendar changes so much. It's only been a year, yet so many changes around me. I, however, have not changed much.

I'm still not sure what the fuck is wrong with me.

It's frustrating to sit at one spot for more than a year. You get bed sores. You get cramps. You also get sympathisers. And like all bed-ridden vegetables, you can't do shit about it. At least veges know what disease they have. It's a simple thing, physical diseases; they get diagnosed with a simple scan or test. Not my case, though, not my case.

Motivation still eludes me. Sleep has been a come-and-go, sort of like an on-again-off-again affair. Fuck knows when I'll finish my assignments. I hate what I'm learning. I don't know what to do with my life. I also hate my life. I can continue, but people are going to think I'm some attention-seeking slacker who needs his balls licked by people on the internet. Fact of the matter is, I'm one gigantic fuck-up.

And all I want to do is trying to survive day-to-day.

So excuse me if I sound pathetic, if I seem to just want attention, if I write like a fucking degenerate, if I'm being obnoxious, if I'm being immature, if I look like a fool, if I fucking annoy you with my shit writing, or whatever negative ifs you can possibly think of. I have a life to live, and though it may not be as hard as our Middle-Eastern brothers and sisters, it's fucking terrible. Its. Fucking. Terrible. All I'm doing is trying to cope. So again, ex-fucking-cuse me.

I never wanted all this. You want to know my life goals? I just want a life where I can just contact someone, just one person, and tell literally anything without a shadow of a doubt that he/she will either laugh or say the right things to either humour me or comfort me. I want a life where I wake up in the morning and look forward to the day. I want a life where I can go out without feeling ashamed of myself. It's not much, but hey, life just wants to be a fucking bitch, so nuh-uh.

I'm pretty sure everyone will say their life is shitty from time-to-time, and I'm pretty sure they're right. I'm also pretty sure people will call me a crybaby and say fuck you fat fuck just grow a pair and live like normal people who have problems in life. Well, to that, I say fuck your whore mother. I don't expect you to understand. I just expect you to respect my life and how I choose to live it, as long as I don't come and shag your slut of a mother, which I won't, because I respect her.

Sorry for my language. I'm just a tad frustrated. My imagination runs wild at this hour and all I can think of is the world antagonising my entire life.

Maybe the whole world is.

Limits

The amount of times I say the word "fuck" per day is impossible to keep track of. I'm by no means a religious person. I believe in God and everything, don't worry. However, sometimes I just can't help thinking that God may have just abandoned me.

It's not a good thought to have, I know, but sometimes, you know, sometimes. Things become shitty at every turn, almost nothing goes your way, and people around you just seem to show you the middle finger; these all take a toll at a man's soul. Everyone has their limit, no matter how strong or resilient they are. I'm a mere human being. I have doubts about life and death.

I haven't come face-to-face with death just yet, God forbid it would be anytime soon. I have so much love to give, so much happiness to find, and there are people who love me, but sometimes, sometimes, these things don't seem to matter. Sometimes all I want is to die, and my imagination runs amok as to how I'd die. 

This makes it dangerous for me to go out. The things that I could do to kill myself out in the open, oh don't get started on it. 

And now I'm starting to sound dark. 

Don't be afraid, I've never had the guts to follow through with my suicidal plans. I have a coping mechanism; I force my adrenaline to rush the fuck out into my veins. I do stupid things. I approach death in safe ways. I do it so I know the feeling of almost dying, and trust me, it doesn't feel so good, at least not how I imagined it would be.

Death is painful, there's not doubt about that. Your whole body system failing one by one, your fingers numbing, then your limbs, then your abdomen, then your voice becomes hoarse and finally that one last breath you take. I can never imagine how it feels like. I've heard the stories of a prophet who tasted death and was resurrected immediately so he knew the feeling of dying. He described it as "being stabbed by 40 swords" or something, and fuck me I almost cried like a bitch when I first got an injection.

The sad thing is though, I always have to remind myself that death by my own hands is not worth it. I constantly need to tell myself there are people who love me, there's so much love in me that I need to spread, and there are so many things I haven't done, things I haven't seen. I haven't seen the tulip gardens of The Netherlands, The Kremlin, Japan, Ireland, Scotland, the Scandinavian countries. I haven't eaten the best foods in the world, gone skydiving, been on a surfboard, hike a mountain.

So many things.

Yet, I'm a mere human being. I have my limits as well. It's a battle of me against myself, or my demons, or whatever. I honestly have no idea what I'm up against, but it's one tough son of a bitch. The outcome of this battle cannot be a stalemate. My enemy, it doesn't want to stop. One day, either I or this entity will emerge victorious, and the whole world will know.

Fishmongers

I woke up at 2.30pm today. No classes, but still, what the fuck right? My sleep schedule is messed up. I have a pending assignment due two weeks ago, one due in two days and another due in 5 days. I'm messed up. I'm fucked. But I don't feel anything. Literally nothing. It's like I don't give a shit anymore. Maybe I don't.

It's a lot of maybes, that's for sure. I still have feelings, mind you. I feel happy, I feel sad, angry, high, all that stuff, but like I said in my previous post, nothing feels genuine. 

It shows when I go to class, attend functions and stuff, you know, socialising. Day-to-day communications and interactions and all the consequences of them, it feels fake. I'm not saying that people are fake, because they fucking are, I'm saying that I fake things. Why do I fake things? Why do I have to mask everything, sugarcoat everything? And why the fuck are people allowed to do whatever the fuck they want, but I don't seem to get that choice?

I'm not a selfish person, at least not entirely. I can be selfish, but most of the time I try not to be. It's what my mother taught me. Don't be selfish. Think about other people. Have empathy. Come to think of it, I don't remember getting taught empathy by anyone. Whatever. But some people, some people, they don't give a shit. All they think of is themselves. I get frustrated a lot by these kind of people. I know a lot of them, and people actually LIKE them. I don't know if people are just faking it or that they are plain stupid. Both are actually possible.

What do I do with these people? I'm stupidly naive, so I go along with the shit show everyone puts up around these people. I laugh at their jokes, chuckle when they say other people are stupid because they have different opinions, back them up when they do selfish shit etc etc. Yeah I'm stupid. Naive. Cowardly. Well what the fuck am I to do? Stand up to them? I did. Once. It ruined my fucking life.

The thing is with selfish people is that they have influence. They have people sucking their dicks all the fucking time. You go to their faces and say they're selfish, boom, dicksuckers pop out of out nowhere to fuck you up. I've been there, and I tried to do it again many times, but I only have one life. It's been destroyed since. I'm still picking up the pieces I think. I rebuilt my life from fucking pieces, and I'm not builder. I can't build for shit. Therefore, my life sucks.

Fuck I sound like a 15-year-old. 

Though I wish I am 15 right now. Maybe 16. 16. Definitely 16. My happiest and most genuine years of living was when I was 16 and 17. After that, just a whole clusterfuck of fuck-ups. Before that? Haha. Before that was a few years of extreme fuck-ups, and about 12 years of nothingness. I'm 23 now. I've only been alive for two fucking years. 

How many have you lived?

Hope

I came across a nice quote today. I'm gonna paraphrase it because who the fuck has the time to memorise every single word.

"If you always feel the need to travel, you probably want a new life"

Or something like that. It hit me. I LOVE travelling. Seeing new stuff. Fuck I love old cities. And Christmas Markets in Europe holy shit. They don't have those here in New Zealand because it's hot during Christmas so people just party and go wild and shit (white people smh).

Do I want a new life? Fuck yes. I hate this life I'm living now. Not much feels genuine, at least not anymore. Every year I tell myself, this is the beginning of my new life. I used to wonder who the fuck am I kidding, then, well, I stopped caring. Why? It's the hope. Hope is a strange thing.

I've had my paths crossed with hope many times. Oh yes we know each other quite well. The thing with hope is that it wants to help. It really does. You close your eyes and you see it. You see hope. Then you begin doing things differently because of the newfound hope. Its intentions are pure. However, we often misread it as promise. Oh I tell you hope and promise are two absolutely different beings. The fucked up thing about it is that they seems so similar. Now, don't blame hope, it doesn't know you're mistaking it for promise. Like I said, it just wants to help. Hope helps. Promise gives. One opens the door and the other is whatever the fuck is beyond that door.

Anyways, hope and I, we know each other. Believe it or not, hope knows when I mistake it for promise. Oh it knows, but it doesn't really stop me from believing so. Hope is like your grandma; all it wants to see is you being happy and smiling and not wallowing in sorrow or whatever, so sometimes it tells white lies. I'm fully aware that hope lies to me all the time, but I don't care. I suck on whatever happiness I can find, and hope provides me with the pseudo-nutrient that is happiness.

I want to start over. New page. Clean slate. I want promise. If a fucking genie came up to me asking for one wish, I would wish for this. A brand new start. To everything. Fuck money, fuck big houses, I just want to re-write what I am. Hope helps me; by creating an illusion of a world that I can re-write my history.

From this vantage point it sure seems that hope is a bad thing. It actually can be. Like all good things in this world, you simply twist one aspect, it can become maleficent, and no, the good thing doesn't know one of its aspects is twisted, or maybe it does and it doesn't give a fuck. How would I know?

So, what does hope do to you?

One Day

One day, I will let go of everything. I will let go of all the negativity, the hindrance, everything that is holding me back. One day, I will fulfill my destiny. I will be the person I should have always been.

The thing with demons is that they know to leave a seed behind. They can be flushed away, they can be eradicated, but they will always plant a seed for a newborn. This seed is deep inside one's soul, so deep it almost always gets away unnoticed, feeding off the flesh of its host. The demons watch from afar, waiting for their offspring to come to life, and when it does, they laugh and scream at your face, "YOU THINK YOU'RE SAFE? YOU THINK YOU'RE ALL BETTER NOW? WELL YOU'RE WRONG."

I'm a nice guy. Yeah I have some bad in me, but who doesn't? I snoop around people's phones every now and then for kicks, I tell inappropriate jokes, I swear and curse a lot, I take enjoyment from seeing other people suffer. We all do that sometimes (don't we?). My point is, despite all the bad things I do from time to time, I'm a nice person overall. I try to help people whenever I can, I donate to charity and homeless people, I...huh. Now that I think of it, I don't do enough good. Fuck.

Have we ever thought about that? What good have we actually done in our lives routinely? I'm not talking about that one time you helped an old lady cross the road because you were, like, there, or when you gave your food to a hobo who looked creepy and you just wanted to get rid of him. I'm talking about constantly doing good things in life. Have we ever thought about that? Do you think that somehow we all are contributing to all the evil in this world?

Edmund Burke once said, famously, that all that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing. This is my all-time favourite quote. 

Anyways, fuck good things. You wanna do it, do it. You don't wanna, suit yourself. That Edmund Burke quote though.

One day, though, I'm pretty sure I'll explode. I feel evil. I say I'm a nice guy, but all I feel is evil. If I took the ever-popular life advice of "follow your heart", with God as my witness I swear to fucking fuck people would call me an animal. We are all animals by nature. To follow your heart means that you become your true, savage, primal self. You become the monkey, the ape, what have you. Don't follow your heart. You're gonna suffer, and that's a bare minimum, because worst case scenario is that you'll hurt other people, people who love you.

That being said, I've been an animal at times. I've tapped into my primal self. I've faced my demons. I've embraced them even. Holy shit it was awesome. It was fucking awesome I tell you. You don't feel anything other than pure lust for power and blood and all things beastly. You evoke the most powerful force known to animals; fearlessness. You just don't give a shit anymore. Oh fuck it was a great feeling to have.

For a moment. 

This transformation is ephemeral. It's temporary. It's like the effects of hard drugs, and like hard drugs, you lose the feeling after a dose. Then you want more because your stupid body is becoming more tolerant of it. Then you increase the dose. More, and more, and more, and more until before you know it, you're addicted. Hah. You're now an addict to an ethereal, fantastical, psychological drug. It's not like they can flush it out of your system at a hospital. No no no....you're fucked now.

You wanna know the most screwed up part? You can overdose. Yes, like any kind of drug, you can, and will, overdose if you're not careful. And yes, overdose can lead to death. You wanna be a rock star? Well at least you can die like one for free!

Anyways, fuck that. Where was I? Oh, yes. One day, I will be better. One day, I will recover. One day, I will outgrow this shit. One day, I will succeed in life.

One

Fucking

Day

Carr

It was a normal working day for Carr at Prada. Customers in and out, most of them not buying anything. His job was only to greet people most of the time, and he excelled.

Then came along a man, ragged was his clothes. A worn out Lakers cap, a white polo shirt slightly yellow around the armpits, loose cargo pants, slippers, and a scruffy beard. He entered and started browsing the items, all the while stroking his beard like it was a cat. At times he would scratch his nose and even ram his fingers in his nostrils. He also looked very tired and weary, with eye bags underneath his eyes, a slightly pale face and a slouch on his shoulders.

Carr observed the man from afar, thoughts playing in his mind, prejudices toying with his professionalism and hesitation suppressing his will for duty. He looked around at his co-workers and they all gave no heed to the man. Some made disgusted faces, some gave judgmental expressions, some even laughed at him. "Assholes", thought Carr.

His willpower was indeed strong. Carr approached the man and uttered his work mantra, "how can I help you sir?"

The man stared at Carr with his weary eyes for a solid 5 seconds, making Carr very nervous and awkward. The man then switched his gaze around the store, catching every eye of Carr's co-workers until he stopped at one person.

"You! Come over here," bellowed the man. His voice was indeed commanding. Carr felt a slight tingle down his spine.

The person summoned by the man shuddered and slowly made his way to him. Carr saw that his co-worker was anxious, nervous and probably scared.

"Are there things in this store that you like?" the man said. The summoned person was hesitant to answer, and he looked at Carr in case there was any hope for him to be spared of whatever may come. Carr looked away, more out of fear than anything. What Carr feared at the time remains a mystery.

"Y-y-yes. I've always wanted those shoes," The summoned man finally answered. The man stared at the pair of shoes and said to Carr, "would you please take a pair of those, his size?"

Carr was confused. He didn't know what to do. He looked at the summoned man and he shrugged. The entire store was silent. Everyone was quietly watching this drama unfolding. A drop of sweat was flowing from Carr's temple.

"Hurry now, lad. I haven't got all day," the man broke the silence. Carr rushed to get that pair of shoes.

"Now, when I entered this store, literally no one wanted to speak to me. Is that correct?"

"You," the man sent a thunderbolt down the summoned man's spine with his voice, "you even looked at me with disgust. I want to ask you, how much do you make here?"

"A-a-about a grand and a half a month..." answered the summoned man.

"So, you will never be able to afford this shoe right? The pair of shoes that you see everyday, from 10 a.m to 10 p.m. So let me buy it for you."

Carr's eyebrows almost disappeared in his hair when the man declared this, and his hairline is receding. The summoned man was shocked, but a slight smile was etched on his face soon afterwards. He was speechless, much like everyone else in the store.

"Th-thank you so much sir, b-but, are you really sure you want to do this? Even after what I did to you?" said the summoned man. It was the morally right thing to do.

"Yes, now please check it in at the cashier. I have places that I need to go. Scurry now," the man said. The summoned man rushed the shoes to the counter and keyed in the numbers.

"That would be thirty-two hundred, sir," said the cashier. The man dunked his hand in his back pocket and dished out three thousand and two hundred dollars in cash. Carr drooled a bit seeing this, and he didn't care. He has never seen three thousand and two hundred in cold hard cash. He savoured every moment.

Then the questions emerged. Who was this man? Why does he carry around that much money in his pocket? Why is he so scruffy? What the hell? Carr looked at his co-workers and it seemed like nobody was thinking of these questions except him. They were all smiling and patting the summoned man's back.

Then other questions emerged. Why didn't I get the shoes? Why would the man buy it for the asshole that gave him such bad treatment? Why is this happening? What the hell? Carr sat down and and frowned. He was never a lucky man. He was a nice person, but never lucky. Poor Carr.

The store suddenly erupted into shouts and screams. Carr snapped out of his wallowing. There was a fire in the store. Carr quickly ran to the locker rooms and grabbed a fire extinguisher, but when he returned, the fire was out. Again, poor Carr.

His disappointment, though, was short lived. He looked at the source of the fire, and saw that it was a box. A shoe box. Carr looked around and saw shocked faces everywhere. The summoned man was holding his head and his eyes were almost popping out of their sockets.

By this time, the mystery man was already at the door, ready to leave. Carr stopped him, "Sir, what have you done? And why did you do it?"

With his bellowing voice, the man answered, "Son, I am a multimillionaire, I came here today like this because I am looking for a nice gift to give my wife. I was locked out of the house because I didn't put the toilet seat back down. But don't judge her. I love my wife and she loves me. However, your co-workers here are assholes. I come in and no one bats an eye? I run a business, and I give an audience to anyone who sets an appointment with me, no matter how they look. Do you know how many hobos out there that have their own houses because I gave them jobs? Do you know how many street kids who now make so much more than you do because I gave them jobs? They came to me looking for jobs and I gave them. Now they are successful and they always write to me, tell stories about me to their children and friends. I am a multimillionaire. You people don't even make a fraction of what I make and you are all so arrogant! Fifteen hundred a month? I make fifteen hundred an hour! You see how easily I bought those shit shoes, and how easily I burned them in front of you? You must think I'm the most arrogant bastard ever, but I was showing you how arrogant you people were earlier, and how I, as the customer, felt. I put you people in my shoes. Doesn't feel so good, right?"

Carr was sweating so much that his whole face was drenched. The man noticed this, and added, "Oh but you, son, you are an exception. I will write to Patrizio Bertelli himself to commend you. I will see you be made manager of this branch, your co-workers fired and replaced with more professional ones. Oh and please give me your address. I will see that you get an upgrade on your transport, and your house will be renovated so you will look more like a Prada branch manager."

Carr's jaw dropped so much he had a cramp. One of his co-workers fainted and the summoned man froze like a sculpture before running out of the store crying.

What the hell?

Wisdom

"Hey, hey...Listen, I like you. I like you not just because you're beautiful, which you are. You're saying you're not? Well then you are to me. Isn't that enough? That should be enough. I like you just the way you are. I like all your strengths and weaknesses, all your imperfections, flaws and what not. That's you. And I like you for that and no other reason. Why change? You don't have to. I don't care what other people think of you, and you must think that way too. It's you and me, not you and them. I want you, and you want me right? Not them, right? I want to be with you. And if that means that I need to change, so be it. I'll do anything to be with you. You're special and the fact that only I can see it makes you even more special. Okay? I'm here for you, anytime, all the time. You can count on that. And I don't care if you can't do the same to me. If living this way is the only way that I can be with you, then so be it. You're just too special and too precious to me. I don't need a perfect person, I need a person perfect for me. I don't need someone to complete me, I need someone who makes me feel complete. I don't need someone to fill up the holes in my life, I need someone who I can share my life with. That's you. I like you....."

is what every woman wants to hear from their man.

But bear in mind, while words are comforting, they are not concrete. They are mere band-aids. The healing of the wound depends on your own clotting agent. It's how you eat, drink and live your life.

Choose. Wisely.