Sunday, March 1, 2009
"He who is not impeccable"
Having taken a bath, one might say that I have regained a small part of my sanity.
I realise that I subconciously assimilate the writing and speech styles of various people around me, even that of the literature I study.
Today I was physically hurt by two people, none of which were attempting to hurt me AHAHAHAHAHA.
#1 - One who sandpapered paint off my arm - this one hurts like hell. No evident wound, but the skin is sore and hurts like anything.
#2 - One who cut me - literally. Swinging his knife around, my hand -just- happened to be in the way, and a bloody wound ensured. Lots of blood, spillage, huge wound, but I couldn't feel anything.
I inquire of myself: Do I have any friends? If friends are defined by those who understand me, then I can say with relative confidence that I am friend-less. For he who is unable to even understand himself, how is it that he can expect to ask of others to understand him? I have few people who are close to understanding me. Few people whom I can confide in. Many people are superficial. I am superficial. Alot of people may think they know me. They say "hi" to me. They call me their abang. We have fun together. But are we friends? This, I do not know. What am I to judge others when I am unable to judge myself? Who am I to ask this of you; who am I to ask this of myself? My life has degraded to a meaningless facade.
Today I did several things. I woke up in the morning. Rather early. Given that it was a Saturday, my body complained. Of course, if my body had its way, it would eventually suffer. I reached school early in the morning, and basically did nothing for like hours in school. Finally, took a can of paint, boarded the bus, and instantly blacked out for the rest of the trip.
I make a gamble everyday. The stake is my life. I walk along the edge. A well-defined edge. One slip, and death would ensure. The day where I end my life is the day when I slip. Inches. That is how far I have been from death, thrice in the past two days. An object, weighing roughly two tons, moving at high velocity. Inches. Inches closer and my life would end. My body would crumple like a puppet with its strings cut. I would die. Perhaps it would be better.
After waking up, I do recall that I was basically inactive for the next while or so, doing some mindless sai kang without really waking up. I only began to actually wake up when we entered the house of the man whom we were about to perform a service for. His surname was Chia. He had a grandson named Justin. His house was, shall we say, in much better shape than I had expected. We were in for a fun time.
I am myself. I am not. How do I know if I am myself? For what I am, myself knows not. For what is myself, I know not either. It is a paradox. I and myself are no longer one.
Painting the walls. Scraping the paint off the gate. Taping the edges. Lining the canvas/newspapers. Adjusting the curtains. Moving the furniture. All of which I am familiar with. I have done many things in my short life. I wonder. It was fun. To do it with my classmates. It was interesting. I observed them. They think I am eccentric. I think that is an understatement.
What have I done with my life? I have sought knowledge in many things. I have learnt little about much, and much about little. I know so much, yet know so little. There is little I am not familiar with, yet there is little I am good with.
Lunch was screwed. I ordered my chicken chop before my group told me they were going to Botak Jones to eat. So I finished my chicken chop, a rather large plate of not-bad food, and went after them. And ordered yet another serving of fish and chips. It would be my second western-food-meal in the day, but not the last. I was, needless to say, bloated.
Swimming. Origami. Weaving. Sewing. Baking. Cooking. Shooting. Archey. Chess. Badminton. Chinese Chess. Wei Qi. Speech and Drama. Taekwondo. Table Tennis. Writing. Soccer. Crafting. Basketball. Mechanical works. Psychology. Murder. Arcade games. Running.
We got to make friends with Justin Chia. He's a nice guy, quite small and cute, and likes to laugh. I think we are a bad influence on him. His knowledge of vulgarities has probably tripled in the short time we spent with him. Serene taught him how to solve the first layer of a Rubik's Cube. Edwin -tried- to teach him about yo-yoing.
I have lost sight. Lost sight of the goal. But I know not about the goal. Did I ever have one? What is it like to have one? The goal. What goal?
It is to my belief that we left the house we painted at about 4.10 p.m. This is when my indescribable stupidity comes in. I see that bus 14 is listed in the bus stop. I remember that bus 14 goes to Clementi. I board bus 14. I conveniently forget that I am at Bedok. I neglect to think of the 40-odd stops in between Bedok and home. When I next wake up, it is 5.50 p.m. and I am at Dhoby Ghaut. Panicking, I alight from the bus.
What am I? Who am I? Who am I to question what I am? What am I to question who I am?
After alighting, I panic more. My memory tells me that the JTS outing is at 6.30 p.m. Cursing my stupidity at neglecting to consider how long it would take for the bus to reach home, reeking of thinner and covered in paint, I made my way to City Hall. After finally finding NYNY, I am reminded by dear Lester Goh that the JTS outing is at 7.30 p.m. I curse my stupidity. With one hour to go, I return to Dhoby Ghaut, and spent 30 minutes with my arms outstretched. A clue: I was in the arcade. Would you like to take a guess at what I was doing?
Downfall. Spiral. Bottomless. Abyss. Fall. Loss. Death.
My heart died. My emotions died.
Perhaps this is what it is to die.
Perhaps it would be
better to
die.
Left his delible imprint at [12:13 AM] Sharp.
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