My Claws

Last night I had this dream.

I was in this world where humans had the abilities to change into monsters. Monsters, as in actual, terrifying beasts, because if you think about it, putting Pokemon into the context of the real world would be quite terrifying, because creatures with with claws and fangs would be able to just hunt you down. 

But I loved that dream. It's up there on my Favourite Dream List, which only has two at the moment - this one, and the one where I dreamt I was spider-man. 

I'm not saying I had nightmares for my other dreams (that were non-violent), its just that they were deeply unsettling and I made to forget about them as soon as I woke up. I can still remember, though. Like how a robot made to look like a human is unnerving because there's something wrong with them (look up: uncanny valley), a dream in which the real, everyday world is messed up and twisted (and it's not even Alice in Wonderland kind of twisted, just, wrong) is frankly, horrifying. 

By that sentence, then those dreams must actually be nightmares, huh?

But I'm getting sidetracked. Back to my dream. I was a creature like this:

Weird little guy, huh? Kinda creepy too.

But it was more then just being a creature that bore a strong resemblance to Gengar from  Pokémon (and of all Pokémon, it had to be Gengar). 

It was something like Gengar. But not quite. The skin colour was darker then a Gengar. The creature was less... cartoonish. The most prominent features, as far as I could see (because there was no mirror) were my claws. 

And my very loud roar. 

The most wonderful part was, obviously, the creature that I would grow up to be (evolution, like in games, ya know?) - a big, powerful, purple, gothic and fearsome looking dragon that I only managed to glimpse slightly.

And like in games, there was also this boss that I had to fight and defeat. 

See, I think I was travelling in this group of five, and we were running, with me in the lead, this maze of pathways between HDB's in Singapore. Every now and then a loud, magnifying roar would shake the grounds, a challenge to me, but I'll still charge on (to my might foe) without stopping. I'll roar back, and here's the thing: I couldn't roar. It wasn't a loud and proud monster roar. It was the weak roar of a human being who didn't know how to roar and knew it. 

But I roared (badly) on, regardless - and here's where it starts to get a little hazy - I find my foe and it's a human, and I'm not really sure what happened, but I had to try again.

So I did, and this time, when I roared, I fucking roared; I jumped over downhill highways, roaring and thundering all away with my still-human friends to meet my foe in a cheap small shopping centre.

I must have ran up some escalators because I was not on level one and as I charged down one direction, someone picked up the scent on him and we all backtracked and turned right, dashing to one of the shops that contained a middle-age man wearing a doctor's coat, aka my foe. 

I don't remember his face, I don't remember anything much of what he did, but I remembered the feel of his face in my hands, my paws, my claws, I remembered how much the texture of it felt like rubber. I remember digging my claws everywhere: I was smaller then him, but I was so much more powerful, because I have my claws, I have my claws. I remember drawing blood, lots of it, anytime and everywhere he tried to squirm to, I clung onto him, drawing more and more blood, snarling, growling, ripping skin and flesh, etc. 

I remember walking up to him as he slumped shivering and bleeding on the wall, when my assault on him was finally over (because he didn't get me at all). I remembered I was grinning. I was happy, I was proud. I did this. I defeated him. He couldn't do anything against me. He was powerless. My proudest moment, ever, in dreamland. I was fucking delighted. Never again will he look down on me, or threaten me, or roar louder at me. No more. 

And then I woke up, and the dream was so good, that I had to write down the best moments of it - keep it as a record - the feeling of ripping flesh, beneath my claws. 

So today I went...

So today I went to the shower and cried.
It wasn't a good cry - it was muffled sobs and hastily stifled hiccuping, because obviously I don't want anyone to hear. 
It's not even my business, really, so its even less of my business to cry.
Which is what I tell myself. A few times I would suddenly straighten and focus my eyes into a glare and the pouring water would run into my open mouth and I'll have to loosen myself because so stiff I've become that while I'm not moving neither and I breathing.
After a while I stop with the sobs and start screaming. My lungs seize up, my eyes scrunch up, and so loud it is, it echoed all around the shower walls and I drowned in the sound my lungs made.
No, of course not. Those are stuff of romance novels. I screamed with all my might, but I couldn't make a single sound. 
Obviously, because I don't want anyone to hear.

Judging

You.

Don't look at me like that, don't look at me, don't say in that tone of voice: "You're, like, judging me, you know."

Don't say that. Don't you say that. Not from you. Please, no. You little hypocrite.

Who's been judging who, exactly? Who's been deciding who are idiots, and who are not? Who's been deciding who deserves listening to? Who deserves attention?

You. You have been the one judging.

You have been the one judging me. Judging all of us.

Don't roll your eyes. Don't lose your temper. Don't bang your head on the table. You're not the only one pissed.

Don't talk so loudly. You're not always right.

Don't think that just by talking loudly, slamming your hand down on the table, and tuning out others in your 'idiot - not worth listening to' list makes you right.

They act like idiots, but they're not idiots 24/7.

They have brains too. They have good ideas too. It's not a one man crusade. It's not your ideas, your faults, and my responsibility.

一人计短，二人计长。

加上你这一个，真的是三人计多。

Start listening. Don't bitch about it to us when it turns out you're the one whose not been listening. Stop making me repeat everything a second, third, fourth, fucking fifth time. My saliva runs dry and my patience runs thin.

My patience. Your lucky that my tolerance level is so high.

Get this straight - you're not the only one with a loud voice. You're not the only one who knows how to raise your voice.

You're just the only one talking loudly, and thats the only voice you ever listen to, anyway, since its the loudest.

You're lucky I don't try and argue back at you, voice for voice, loud for loud, temper for temper.

You're lucky because I care. I care. I fucking care more then you do.

It's not for my sake, its not for your sake. It's for everyone's sake that I hold myself back, because I know, I realise, I fucking understand, that its a fucking group project and its everyone who has to work, everyone who has to care.

But you don't care, obviously. You just want to bitch and make yourself heard and throw your hands up in the air when we all try and tell you politely, "We don't like your shit idea so stop trying to convince us of it otherwise."

And for fuck's sake, stop fucking judging me. You don't want to be judged, and neither do I.

Who, in the first place, told you that you could judge? Who gave you the right?

Don't use words that you don't understand. You look and sound like a fucking moron, and that vexes me up.

You little bitch.

You hypocrite.

You messed up in the head moron.

You fucking judge.

Sometimes (more recently, actually), I wonder why I care so much. It's like talking to a loose cannon. Nothing goes in, but everything comes out.

I want to jam you up in your damned barrel. I want you to stop firing for a moment and start listening. Start listening, and this time round, for once, actually look at your fucking target before fucking firing.

It's tiring. But you're not the only one tiring.

I'm not fucking invincible. I don't have infinite patience. There's a line before I snap, too.

I like you as a friend. But I don't like, don't want, you, as anything else.

We can befriend each other, but we sure as hell can't work with one another.

And for the fucking record, no one, in this world, should be able to judge anyone else. Not the best friend you giggle to during class. Not the guy in the black gown and white curly wig. Not the person who got a PhD in law.

Nobody should judge anybody, because nobody has the right to do so. I don't care how many diplomas you've got. I don't care how loud your voice is.

I don't want a complete stranger judging me. I don't want my best friend judging me. Neither of them are fit. Neither of them have the authority to judge another being.

But then again, this is our messed up world, run and controlled by us messed up human beings. No wonder Mother Nature cries.

Who wouldn't, with us stupid, judgmental, all-assuming beings ruling the world?

Porcelain People

Some people treat other people like porcelain.

Like, glass. Something fragile. Maybe tofu. The kind that smashes into smithereens if you so much as accidentally shove it against the wall.

I mean, I get that there are many kinds of different people in the world. Some were made to break things. Some were made to be broken. But I don't think I would have so much to say were it not for the fact that these people, who get treated like porcelain - let's call them 'Porcelain People' - don't deserve to be treated like porcelain.

It's not like they're emotionally unstable... on a social, everyday basis. It's not like they weep over every little thing.

In fact, they're people just like you and I, and borderline on being bitches at the same time.

Why would someone treat a bitch like they would handle porcelain? I, for one, don't think they deserve the care they receive. Even if these people were to fall down, it isn't as though they couldn't pull themselves up. There's a saying, "once bitten, twice shy". Is that it? Did something massive happen in the past that caused people to turn bitter towards each other, and now that things are patched up, to save such a catastrophe from happening again, they are treated and handled with care?

But wouldn't these people be stronger now, after the previous disastrous attempt? Wouldn't they be more careful now? Wouldn't they now how to handle their feelings? Why then, do people still treat them like porcelain, giving them guilty, regretful looks behind the back and laughing off everything lightly as though whatever the bitch did wasn't hurtful at all?

Why then, do people cling on to these porcelain people, who are tougher then tough (like raw, stubborn hide) and sharper then sharp? Aren't they themselves afraid of getting cut?

Why not just let the porcelain smash? Wouldn't gluing it together with superglue make it stronger then before, and less likely to break? Why so worried, so cautious?

Its hard to be around people and their porcelain companions. Everything becomes so light-hearted and serious.

Get away from this world

It's been so long since I last updated this blog, but I still have as many things to say.

I'm not even that old, but you know how big the world is? You know how often it gets so big that it just about stresses the hell out of your life?

That kinda sounds like the teenage-identity-crisis, 'the angst-filled years of teenhood' that adults repeatedly mention. Not sure if they're the same thing, but...

More often then not, on these days, I'm getting tired.

Like, dead tired. The world is so crowded nowadays. So stuffy. It's getting hard to breathe.

It'll be nice to get away once in a while, to go to an entirely different place and not to have to lift a finger over anything - but sadly, we're all stuck on one planet and in one world - Earth.

So instead, we have to settle for a lesser alternative - almost there, almost to this other, less suffocating world, but not quite there.

Like when you play the piano.

It was surprising to me at first, but recently, I've developed more than an interest in playing the piano. It's not like design - that one is most resolutely stuck at interest - it's something else entirely. It's passion. I actually feel passionate about playing the piano.

Not the ones that the teacher makes me play. I get my own off the internet.

And I don't have a piano. I have a keyboard. Lesser alternative.

But the keyboard is just behind me, in the small room I have as a working area, so it's desk and computer, electric fan on the left and keyboard behind.

All I have to do is switch the plugs.

But back to topic - the good thing about playing the piano, or the good things about playing the piano: the songs I pick, are, of course, fantastic. One can never go wrong with one's taste. They're all slightly depressing and very hopeful - with the almost there but not quite feel - and I love it. There are so many great composers out there. Yiruma, to name one. Really beautiful songs.

Plus people - the people in this house who have no other choice but to hear the piano - enjoy it. There's something about playing something that other people enjoy. Sort of like a crowd-pleaser. I'll play the piano as long as there's someone to hear it. An audience - why not?

And the best thing about playing the piano? This, by far, is my favorite - the volume. The sound of the keyboard can be adjusted, and I always set it above max. It's just as well, since a real piano is louder then maximum. Not just for the sound quality of an actual piano, but because its so loud, that it muffles all the other sounds. You can't hear the TV or the fan over the sound of the piano. You can't hear any worries, any deadlines, anything even mildly irritating over the sound of the piano. And that has to be the best quality of playing the piano - because it offers a respite, a small, small world away from the one we're all stuck in.

Which is such a pleasing thing, it is such a pleasure, to be away from our world, that I don't ever want to stop playing the piano, don't ever want to stop blasting it at such a loud volume; it is so emotionally pleasing, so comforting, that I don't know what I'll ever do if I don't have a piano nearby to vent all my emotions out on.

But even way above that - just to plain, get away from this world.

Heartbreaks

This matter got me thinking. You know how they show dramas, and there's this couple in it? For some sort of reason the couple breaks up. The guy walks off and leaves the girl crying.
In the really dramatic ones, the girl attempts suicide.
In most, she fails, gets pulled back to life, and wakes up in the hospital. In a few, she dies. But that's besides the point.
These kind of things happen in real life too. Whether it's because she's too upset, or it's because she's just trying to gain sympathy or attention.
Whatever. The idea is just plain stupid.
I don't mean this from a person who never went through a heartbreak before. But before you go so far as to take your life, you might want to slow down and think about it a little bit first.
Like the, 'I found my prince charming but he dumped me.'
The thing is, prince charmings don't dump their princesses. If the guy does dump the girl then its because he is not prince charming. The prince charming is suppose to love the girl, even though she might be ugly or bitchy or just annoying. Their definition is to 'love you no matter what'.
After coming to the conclusion that he is not Mr Right, you will miraculously realise that he is in fact, Mr Wrong.
And now we may proceed to the 'He dumped me so let me kill myself' part.
Kill yourself over Mr Wrong?
The fuck? How many lives do you have? If you do the math then it's just one. And you go and waste your only life on a Mr Wrong?
That is just so, so wrong.
So much so that its stupid. I mean really. What's the point of killing yourself over someone who isn't worth it? That's just plain stupid. It's like paying money for something you won't be getting. The idea just doesn't make any sense, and that's because it's stupid. Throwing your life over Mr Right sounds more sane. (The only way I can see that happening is because Mr Right died, leaving Mrs Right all alone, because Mr Rights don't make you feel like killing yourself.)
But maybe, the reason those suicide cases happen is because people who are in love are just delusional, falling in love with the wrong people in the first place, and then subsequently killing yourself.
If aliens really landed on earth, they would probably look at us and think, weird.
And they would be right.

Something is good only because someone else applauds it, no?
In that sense, isn't life all about what other people think?