Of the past.
People keep diaries to remind them of the past, to store memories of the past. But is it? I remember when I first started keeping a diary, I recorded down every single crush I had, and things that happened in school. If I retrieve that diary out to read now, I'd cringe, so why don't I just throw that diary away, since I know that I won't read it? I don't know...
Then instead of diaries, I started keeping jotter books, and jotted down random thoughts. It could be about people, things, places I met, dreams I had, sudden song, story or whatever creative writing inspiration. I kept it colourful. Once in a while, I'd take it out and read it over and over again. Mostly I'd read about my creative writings, not much about the random thoughts. What are random thoughts to me and how would they affect me? I don't know...
Then I started blogging. Everything went into the blog, but the thing is that you can't carry the laptop anywhere, or have internet connection everywhere so some little little bits of thoughts might be because of mafan and not be blogged down. Then another thing surfaced, how true can your blogging be? Who reads your blog? I'm a very straightforward person, I'm open, but still, I can't be that totally open on a public blog, with possibly anyone seeing it.
Then during my lowest time, I created a blog just for my rough patched, in my MSN space, no links given, that site's dead. I wrote everything about my rough patch in there, but still the same problem occurred. How much you dare write down? How much about you you dare let people know? Names have to be hidden, identities have to be kept secret, how much can I write down? I struggle to find myself, to write down my thoughts and everything. Just to write them down. I have no wish to read it or be reminded of things, but I still write, to vent everything out. Even in my blog, I write. One can really know lots about me if one actually reads everything I write, but being the usual short attention span people, no one would actually go through all my writings. I just write too much...
Last night, or early this morning rather I compiled some of my most private, most secret diary writings and gave it to someone to read. The dates in the dairy was from July, everything about July.
July was the worst time of my life. Especially if contrast that to of June, when I was in bliss land, without troubles, without anything. July was hell. The rough patch set in. There wasn't school or anything to keep my mind away from thoughts. There was someone who stood by my side though, but he was a mistake. It pains for me to think that he could only be there then, and now, things are different. Maybe it wasn't by choice, but more so by circumstances, or maybe it was a choice, a mutual unsaid choice, that we should not talk to each other again, lest I become more and more dependent on him.
Sometimes, in life what people need is support and not cruel remarks on how it is you who hold the key in your life. I know I live for myself, but life is not just about you alone. People do care about others. Care about how others see yourself, care about how you want others see yourself, care about how you want others to care for you especially if you caare for them to. Maybe I'm a more emotive person, I want people to be emotive towards me too, to see how I perceive things, that's why I expect a lot from my friends. Reaping of seeds sown. Deep down, I know this caan never be true. There'll always be cold and heartless and tactless people out there.
Back to my diary. It's now in the hands of someone else. I don't know if what I've written would affect anybody anot, but it does affects me. I surprise myself sometimes at how much I can trust others, maybe that's why I get hurt so often. I hope the reader of my diary will treasure it, since that was the very rough patch which made me write the dairy.
Still of the past, I spent the whole of today reading through someone's blog. I read every single entry, and every single comment left by friends. I read though all the subset blogs that came along with the blog, and I grew up as with time. I've aged a lot reading the blog, almost as if I passed through months just by reading. It's a past, just not my past. Everyone has pasts, we just need to get out of it and move into the present.
But it's not easy going to the present without any support.
Of the present.
In the present, one faces the cold harsh reality of the world where people live for themselves, who really would stop to give you a hand in need. I thought I found a hand which could help me, but that very hand which helped me up slapped me hard in the face. Since then, I kept everything to myself. I stopped blogging about my rough patch, not because it is over, but because I know it's of no use for other people to read it. I need to live my life alone. It's a very harsh reality, but that is life. Life is filled with selfish people.
I once said this to a friend, there are two kinds of friends, one are friends whom you cannot disappoint, the other are friends whom you can negotiate, but I'd like to further describe that. There is one group of friends whom you care more about, and the other group, you know they care about you. It's always a matter of you likes who more. An being that emotive girl, I always am the one giving. I know I cannot complain about this, since it was me who wanted to give in the first place, but really, do I mind? Of course. I'm not happy but I cannot complain...
I once put this up in my MSN nick, "don't tell me to take care". Why? Because those who tell you to take care aren't really concerned about you. People grew up to certain moral values and codes, when someone is down, we feel obliged to tell that person to take care of themselves, so by saying "take care", we feel released from that responsibility of a friend. "I've told him to take care already, but if he doesn't want to take care of himself it's not my fault." That's a very common excuse we give ourselves. Yes, I do that too sometimes, to people whom I don't really care that much. Not to people whom I don't care, but not as much as people whom I go out and physically do something to help a person.
If you really want to help a person, words are useless. It is actions which help people. Or maybe not actions, if that's physically not possible, but be more specific, like wishing me well, praying to whatever god for me, or just by tell me you hope me well, or giving me specific orders on what I should do to take care of myself. Obviously I would know that I should take care of myself. I'm living for myself and not for you. I'd want to take care of myself so why bother you to remind me of that. I'm not being ungrateful here, I'm just being skeptical of people's motives.
Of the future.
I had an online heated exchange with someone today. It hit me really bad. Usually I'm the kind of person who accepts things as it come, but when I get really upset, I can be an extremist. People don't agree with my views, it's okay, but being an insensitive prick, is another matter after all. It's a pity that said person still doesn't notice the insensitivities.
In life, we have our biasness and we discriminate against certain groups of people, it is normal. I too discriminated actively against certain groups of people. But sometimes, although you don't discriminate against certain groups of people, that group of people might feel discriminated against. Humans are sensitive creatures. Wait... I must correct that line, humans can be senstive creatures, especially the groups of people whom are socally stigmatised. Yet again, humans can be insensitive creatures, by not knowing they unwittingly stigmatised another group of people. In such a case what would happen? The stigmatised group would hold a grudge against the poor ignorant person who lives seemingly in bliss, and when things happen, whose fault is it? I don't know...
Maybe I've watched too much TV dramas or movies featuring psychopaths. Where an innocent tactless person unknowingly said something which offended the psychopath. The psychopath held a grudge, and started going on a killing spree, serial killing all people who reminded him of the person who offended him. Think long ago, the then TCS did a homocide drama, Fayi Gushi. The psychopath serial killed women who wore fishnet stockings, started from the person who offended him in the first place. I'm not discriminating the psychopaths, but having that mental condition, they are sensitive people who can only pick up things they don't want to hear.
People say things loosely, I too say things loosely too and offend people freely, but what is important is that we understand and try to be more sensitive people after that. Or am I the only one who actually care about such things? Life moves very fast nowadays, maybe this gives people a reason not to care.
People who need help would need extra considerations, if not they wouldn't need help in the first place. It's okay if you don't want to help, cos everyone can help himself, but really, why still give a push when you don't want to give a hand? Why can't you just not do anything?
Maybe I'm too sensitive, so I can't see the world from an insensitive point of view.