To be honest I wanted to be a hit. I wanted to be popular, to be recognized, to be adored. Not for who I am personally, but for my works. For thoughts and my principles. For my hobbies, skills and potential. Who doesn't want their work to be recognized? Maybe that's where I'm lost.
At the age of 5 or so, my dad bought a small organ, the music thing not the one you find in the black market. So my mom tried to teach me, but me being basically me at a young age, I suck. I'm on a different path of Asians.
Following years, my dad brought different kinds of building blocks.
One-hit-wonder.
Fame-whoring.
Pretentious philosophy.
Above average.
All these delusions, I hid myself. It's my blog okay, but why does it sound so uninteresting? Well, the grammar, the quick-change-of-subject phases and the trying-hard dad jokes. I add up a little GIF and photos from my camera to make it legitimate and eye pleasing. *vomits*. Well in the beginning I wanted this to be my diary, my personal journal. Something I could observe when I grow old how my intellect changes, and how my words never develop that much. I like to read and I like to read to myself.
Anyways I've been expecting a lot to myself, I taught myself a lot of things that I thought I can be very good at. Like what I wrote on "Common Man" (I don't really know the title, too lazy to check), It's been hard to find passion - and at my age, it's very frustrating to see your fellow colleagues, fellow friend and classmates seeing develop on the things that you've witnessed when they were just starting.
All these delusions, I hid myself. It's my blog okay, but why does it sound so uninteresting? Well, the grammar, the quick-change-of-subject phases and the trying-hard dad jokes. I add up a little GIF and photos from my camera to make it legitimate and eye pleasing. *vomits*. Well in the beginning I wanted this to be my diary, my personal journal. Something I could observe when I grow old how my intellect changes, and how my words never develop that much. I like to read and I like to read to myself.
Anyways I've been expecting a lot to myself, I taught myself a lot of things that I thought I can be very good at. Like what I wrote on "Common Man" (I don't really know the title, too lazy to check), It's been hard to find passion - and at my age, it's very frustrating to see your fellow colleagues, fellow friend and classmates seeing develop on the things that you've witnessed when they were just starting.
At the age of 5 or so, my dad bought a small organ, the music thing not the one you find in the black market. So my mom tried to teach me, but me being basically me at a young age, I suck. I'm on a different path of Asians.
Following years, my dad brought different kinds of building blocks.
Plastic - Lego bricks;
Wood - the one you basically connects the pre-cut joints; and
Metal - the one you screw around and stuff. (even comes with remote control so you can make it move)
By this time, I was pressured to answer questions of "what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Dude, I hate that question. So I said "Engineer" so you can build stuff. I tell you there are only four choices anyway. Doctor, engineer, teacher or policeman.
By the end of my elementary, I was exposed to rock and metal (I used to be mainstream hiphop, don't ask, I like to rap), with some Millennial rebel action movies. So I wanted to fight and become a soldier. Then tried to work out with my pre-pubescent body. Well it didn't worked out well so I said, "screw it, back to engineering"
Dude, I hate that question. So I said "Engineer" so you can build stuff. I tell you there are only four choices anyway. Doctor, engineer, teacher or policeman.
By the end of my elementary, I was exposed to rock and metal (I used to be mainstream hiphop, don't ask, I like to rap), with some Millennial rebel action movies. So I wanted to fight and become a soldier. Then tried to work out with my pre-pubescent body. Well it didn't worked out well so I said, "screw it, back to engineering"
Well math is hard so screw engineering too. Plus I'm not creative. I tried to pass an oil painting with a theme of sanity, sanitation? - and I worked on it so hard and then I lost. The worst part is the winner who came from our class, cheated. He asked her older sister who happens to be a beautiful artist make his entry. Cheeky bastard.
By this point I realized something. I believe in a lot of things and soon-after these beliefs slapped me in the forehead with the words "Things doesn't go exactly the way you liked, sweetie."
Not because you worked hard on something, it's worthy. Not because you sweat blood, it will be appreciated. If it's shit to someone, it's shit.
So I try to find a different pursuit. Music - where it all began. Acoustic guitar - I studied from a book and I'm okay I guess. Then bass - another false pretense. I suck and can't even read a chord. Then I move on to drums. It became my life. Why? I think I was just born to bang something on something else - like my toe on the corner of the furniture. My agonizing screams of pain during that hard labor of kicking the foot at the side table over my broken pinky toe nails is almost equally the same as hitting that China thrash cymbals.
Then I quit.
Over.
and over.
and over.
and over.
Again.
May 21st, 2017.
May 21st. 2018.
Exactly a year ago I tried to write all of this.
In just over a month,
I'll get married.
The world just stopped as it stared back at me. Knowing myself - will this work out?
As the blinking bar waits for a mere second on what letter I'll type next, I can't help to become frustrated.
I'm about to enter in another chapter that could not be erased. My mind and heart should be prepared about the new levels of anxieties it will face. I could not, no, I should not let these immature uncertainties control my life - but it's also who I am.
I'm still lost.
I'm sorry.
0 comments:
Post a Comment