Sometimes when I read certain articles or posts, my mind automatically and immediately goes "Thought Catalog" material". Having been a relatively staunch follower of Thought Catalog since I first learned of its sublime existence, and especially so in the recent few months, the term "TC material" has unprecedentedly become my personal sweeping adjective for the plethora of exceptionally superb writing, that are somehow almost always (perhaps inevitably) uninhibitedly dripping with vast degrees of emo-ness (or emotions per se). So for one, I am hereby proclaiming my current ardent devotion for Thought Catalog and its mind-blowing magnificent articles, which more often than not have a way of striking all the right chords and pitching close enough to home to drive a message through without being overly blatant – especially pieces by Chelsea Fagan (yes I am now a fan of her work truly, she is magic)

Another thing I have to just put out there is, emo writing (as I shall choose to call it, which can casually be defined by my own terms as work produced in a particularly distraught or distressed state of mind) somehow always finds its way into the category of good writing. That's one point for Emotions, zero for self-control. I mean, honestly, we have to face this undeniable truth. That often seemingly unbearable onslaught of turbulent emotions, and the maniacal emotional upheaval that rips you apart and shreds the vestiges of your ebbing pleasant-state-of-mind-ness, do inexplicably and irrefutably give for incredibly praise-worthy writing. Or any kind of self-expressive art for that matter. I am fairly certain I have written about said connection between (negative) emotions and writing before in the past, with regards to my personal experiences of grappling with paradigm-shifting mood oscillations (pardon my tendency to exaggerate), and how it curiously translates into better writing. I do believe in this, really, that one who is perhaps in a rather dark place somehow produces better art.

Ok that was entirely not suppose to be the gist of my post tonight, but oh how I love to digress.

---

I was reading someone's blog tonight. And wow did the words of that author hit me. Hard. In the stomach. Like badly executed punches raining torrentially into me. Pow pow pow slamming hard in my abdomen, leaving me sore and defenceless as the aftermath of the figurative assault manifests in a heavy heart and a disquieted mind. I am speechless, aghast.

You make me feel as though I don't have the right – at all – to be unhappy. Silently, I am put to immense shame. As I read the posts, each and every one of them, line by line word by word, ingesting every paragraph in its complete entirety, I was drawn deeper and deeper into someone else's world. It was like falling down a bottomless rabbit hole; watching someone else's life flash before you as you plummet farther and farther into the perpetual darkness.

It's just, I never knew. We never knew.

I wish I could tell you I understand what you're going through, but I don't. For my personal truckload of issues and problems, unresolved or otherwise, appear so so trifle in comparison. For what I initially perceived to be a humongous pile of mess before me has now instantaneously disintegrated into a close-to-negligible pile of dust. Those problems probably appeared so large because we were standing so close to them. And now, they have dramatically reduced in size because you have taken a step back, maybe two or more, in order to take a look at someone else's share of crap, and as you turn to look over your shoulder at your amassment, you realise, hey it actually doesn't seem that formidable afterall. It does not occur to you that you are simply standing a couple yards away from the exact same heap that you began with.

I wish I could say, come give me a bit of your pain, let me lighten you load. Because the pain of others always seem more unbearable than your own. Somehow when you preoccupy yourself with the worries and issues of another person, it takes your mind off your inessential baggage. Even if it is just that little bit. Perhaps that is why I indulge in resolving conflicts and alleviating pain – as long as it is not my own. That is the power of comparison, isn't it? Yes, what you are dealing with it bad. But it is not at all as bad as hers. I would not consider myself having possess any outstanding martyr-like tendencies or the likes of selfless heroism, but I always feel the pressing urge to step up and offer to shoulder off a portion of someone else's pain. It pains me to see another suffer; in that moment, I overestimate the level of my threshold for pain, I forget what actual pain feels like.

I wish I could do something substantial to help – play god, change your deck, review your fate – but I can't. A mere bystander at the site of your tragic collision, watching forlornly as the vehicle of your sanity combusts into flames, as the remnants of the facade your artfully disguised past are greedily consumed by the uncontrollable inferno, leaving behind the ugly unmasked truth, shrivelling in the tongues of fire. Obliterated to partial oblivion; unwanted traces remain. Walking over the charred asphalt, watching the clouds of grey ash rise pathetically under footsteps before falling back down after what seemed like a futile attempt to remain suspended. I picture you, just like the ashes, struggling to rouse yourself from your unforgivable state of emotional wreckage, with the eventual concede to being trampled down thoroughly – limp, defiled, burned out. Just like the ashes. Formally I once wrote, those who are aware but stand by passively offering no help are just as bad as those who intentionally allow themselves to remain ignorant. The feeling of hypocrisy in the pit of my stomach is like soured bile threatening to resurface. I really wish I could help you, I really do.

And it is perspective-galvanising to realise how terribly small and helpless you can feel. I feel obliged to say it, but truly, I'm sorry.

---

Contrary to the supposed tone of this entry, I had an amazing day today. Beyond amazing, in fact, which is no doubt quite a rarity of late. But it was a splendid day -- seeing familiar faces and catching up with old friends, telling jokes and wiping tears (of glee), dishing gossip and trading heartbreaks, feasting on junk food and gorging on the beautiful sound of unrestrained laughter. It was lovely seeing my primary school friends again, even those who I failed to keep in touch with. Oh how I miss the days of '08, life back then was oh so good. Today was a good day.

Every now and then, you inevitably feel that burning longing to return to that kingdom; to renew your loyalty, submit to royalty. You wonder why you have never outwardly proclaimed the injustice of your exile – the inarguable, perennial banishment from the place you have come to view as your sanctuary, a place where you seek refuge from the restraining forces of the outside world.

A trifling being in a midst of a grandeurous land, within the all-encapsulating power of seeming divinity; you cannot help but feel an indomitable compulsion to capitulate to this veritable force of sanctity. Each and every aspect of this enchanting and enigmatic kingdom drew you in from the very start; it took your breath away, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. And soon you develop this ineffable need to be part of this community, a persistent yet almost wistful yearning to be accepted in these sacred halls of this nirvana.

Exile cuts like a blunt knife through butter; like a lightning bolt ripping through the sky.

You stagger out of the celestial gates with the vestiges of your shredded dignity, and the swelling sense of indignation. Practically an empty shell, you are left with next to nothing – the result of your unwavering commitment to the kingdom that hardheartedly turned its back against you, the result of your endless contribution to a seemingly bottomless chasm which never once brought you anything thing in return. Standing outside the barb-wired borders, the conspicuous flaws of the formally flawless come to light. You begin to see its inherent ugliness; its sinister creatures that lurked in its streets; its malicious motives that were constantly kept under the wraps, billowing deep under, unseen and unapparent.

True, an ethereal utopia can be transformed to the monstrous pits of Tartarus in a glance. So why does parting with such a horrid place feel so heart-wrenching? Perhaps its that elusive sense of belonging you experienced when you were once a part; one that brought you illumination and hope, and made you feel greater than anything you will ever be.

Between the loyal subject and the heartless queen, there is nothing left but the unspoken regrets of what-might-have-been.

Life has been strange ever since the Os are over. It seems as though the sole purpose of my life has been entirely eliminated. Without an urgent task at hand and a definite deadline in sight to pressurise me, I am beginning to have too much time once again for my mind to wander. It would be utterly hypocritical of me to say that I enjoyed every moment of prep work for the Os – I did not – but it was undeniably a good distraction. It kept my mind busy, and it kept my life on track. Every thing was routine, I knew I was pressed for time, I slept early, I was constantly preoccupied when I was awake. In fact, that couple of weeks I spent in school during study leave were partly some of my happiest days, despite the craziness of things and the vexed nerves. It felt good working towards something, working for something.

And then it all just ended.

I guess I saw it coming all along. That last few weeks before the Os – though perhaps the most stressful ones of my life – were what makes every journey count. But also, they were the beginning of the end. The end of something that gave my life definition, and something that kept me walking up every day to fight against and to fight towards. We all need some driving force in our lives, you know? And somehow that humongous exam gave me just what I need.

Be it motivation or distraction, the Os was such a dominant part of my life. It was practically my entire life itself. And with it gone, I once again have nothing to obsess over. Which is pretty self-destructive in itself.

I packed my holidays with travelling. When I wasn't travelling, I busied myself with meet-ups. I try to keep myself occupied, I try to make myself hang around people. In fact, barely back for 2 days and I have made it a point to fill up my January with plans generously. I don't know why I need to do this, but a voice in my head repeatedly reminds me that I have to. Back-to-back plans and non-stop activities are what I need to keep myself together.

---

Do you not get tired? Well, I can no longer tell if I am finally sinking under the burden of exhaustion or if I have been tired all along. Perhaps having to come to terms with one's inner demons and hyperactive mental workings is much more tiring as opposed to perpetual movement.

Perhaps I am just someone who needs, note not chooses but needs, those countless reminders that I can have people around when I want if I want. I generally have nothing whatsoever against spending time on my own (in fact I usually enjoy it very much), but it's just these days my mind is getting too loud for me to ignore and there are some unresolved and incomprehensible issues that simply would not go away, and they will probably never go away unless you take them down head first, but that is almost impossible when you dont know where they reside or what form that take. Knowing how to commence and carry out a battle is tough, finding the courage to proceed is tougher, but what trumps it all is fighting when you don't know what it is you're fighting. One cannot fight thin air; it is not long before you lose interest if not burn out. Just like a dog chasing it's tail.

And then one day you ask yourself, perhaps this thing that you're egging yourself towards for a wrestle is so small its negligible. Perhaps you were meant to learn to live with it, whatever this malevolent creature is. Perhaps it is indeed something everyone encounters and continues life with as baggage – necessary baggage. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was never there to begin with. You merely made it up. Just to feel a little less alone in that hour of desperation. 

Maybe you're afraid. Don't worry, every one is. Or was, before they overcame it. Try to get over it. I know, but what if you don't know what it is that you're afraid of. Or what if you know that you'd never be able to cross over that hurdle regardless of what you do. What if it is yourself that you are afraid of. When does it end when you are fearing yourself, or fighting yourself. When does this vicious cycle of self-destruction end.

You know, things do not have to be as convoluted as you make them to be. Do we still have choices? And for how much longer?

If every year of our lives is a mountain we need to ascend, 2012 was one hell of a climb. Plagued with endless adversities and prevailing resistances, the past year (though incredibly memorable) was nothing short of a challenge. Nonetheless, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - these tough times served to better position us to tackle greater threats and brave stormier seas. Come 2013, lets find the determination within ourselves to put aside any emotional baggage and persevere on with our chin up; seek to correct old mistakes and have the courage to admit to new ones; bear in mind the importance to constantly express our appreciation and gratitude, and not to take the people & blessed moments around us for granted; be sensitive to those struggling around us and celebrate the achievements of those who found well-deserved success; never hesitate to extend a helping hand, or to ask for help; to allow ourselves to let loose and be happy, whilst not fearing to reveal sorrow and pain; be generous, empathetic and accepting; and finally, have the courage to be true and honest to both ourselves, and those around us. Hereby lets celebrate the start to a new year: cheers to renewal and remembrance!

Sometimes when I read certain articles or posts, my mind automatically and immediately goes "Thought Catalog" material". Having been a relatively staunch follower of Thought Catalog since I first learned of its sublime existence, and especially so in the recent few months, the term "TC material" has unprecedentedly become my personal sweeping adjective for the plethora of exceptionally superb writing, that are somehow almost always (perhaps inevitably) uninhibitedly dripping with vast degrees of emo-ness (or emotions per se). So for one, I am hereby proclaiming my current ardent devotion for Thought Catalog and its mind-blowing magnificent articles, which more often than not have a way of striking all the right chords and pitching close enough to home to drive a message through without being overly blatant – especially pieces by Chelsea Fagan (yes I am now a fan of her work truly, she is magic)

Another thing I have to just put out there is, emo writing (as I shall choose to call it, which can casually be defined by my own terms as work produced in a particularly distraught or distressed state of mind) somehow always finds its way into the category of good writing. That's one point for Emotions, zero for self-control. I mean, honestly, we have to face this undeniable truth. That often seemingly unbearable onslaught of turbulent emotions, and the maniacal emotional upheaval that rips you apart and shreds the vestiges of your ebbing pleasant-state-of-mind-ness, do inexplicably and irrefutably give for incredibly praise-worthy writing. Or any kind of self-expressive art for that matter. I am fairly certain I have written about said connection between (negative) emotions and writing before in the past, with regards to my personal experiences of grappling with paradigm-shifting mood oscillations (pardon my tendency to exaggerate), and how it curiously translates into better writing. I do believe in this, really, that one who is perhaps in a rather dark place somehow produces better art.

Ok that was entirely not suppose to be the gist of my post tonight, but oh how I love to digress.

---

I was reading someone's blog tonight. And wow did the words of that author hit me. Hard. In the stomach. Like badly executed punches raining torrentially into me. Pow pow pow slamming hard in my abdomen, leaving me sore and defenceless as the aftermath of the figurative assault manifests in a heavy heart and a disquieted mind. I am speechless, aghast.

You make me feel as though I don't have the right – at all – to be unhappy. Silently, I am put to immense shame. As I read the posts, each and every one of them, line by line word by word, ingesting every paragraph in its complete entirety, I was drawn deeper and deeper into someone else's world. It was like falling down a bottomless rabbit hole; watching someone else's life flash before you as you plummet farther and farther into the perpetual darkness.

It's just, I never knew. We never knew.

I wish I could tell you I understand what you're going through, but I don't. For my personal truckload of issues and problems, unresolved or otherwise, appear so so trifle in comparison. For what I initially perceived to be a humongous pile of mess before me has now instantaneously disintegrated into a close-to-negligible pile of dust. Those problems probably appeared so large because we were standing so close to them. And now, they have dramatically reduced in size because you have taken a step back, maybe two or more, in order to take a look at someone else's share of crap, and as you turn to look over your shoulder at your amassment, you realise, hey it actually doesn't seem that formidable afterall. It does not occur to you that you are simply standing a couple yards away from the exact same heap that you began with.

I wish I could say, come give me a bit of your pain, let me lighten you load. Because the pain of others always seem more unbearable than your own. Somehow when you preoccupy yourself with the worries and issues of another person, it takes your mind off your inessential baggage. Even if it is just that little bit. Perhaps that is why I indulge in resolving conflicts and alleviating pain – as long as it is not my own. That is the power of comparison, isn't it? Yes, what you are dealing with it bad. But it is not at all as bad as hers. I would not consider myself having possess any outstanding martyr-like tendencies or the likes of selfless heroism, but I always feel the pressing urge to step up and offer to shoulder off a portion of someone else's pain. It pains me to see another suffer; in that moment, I overestimate the level of my threshold for pain, I forget what actual pain feels like.

I wish I could do something substantial to help – play god, change your deck, review your fate – but I can't. A mere bystander at the site of your tragic collision, watching forlornly as the vehicle of your sanity combusts into flames, as the remnants of the facade your artfully disguised past are greedily consumed by the uncontrollable inferno, leaving behind the ugly unmasked truth, shrivelling in the tongues of fire. Obliterated to partial oblivion; unwanted traces remain. Walking over the charred asphalt, watching the clouds of grey ash rise pathetically under footsteps before falling back down after what seemed like a futile attempt to remain suspended. I picture you, just like the ashes, struggling to rouse yourself from your unforgivable state of emotional wreckage, with the eventual concede to being trampled down thoroughly – limp, defiled, burned out. Just like the ashes. Formally I once wrote, those who are aware but stand by passively offering no help are just as bad as those who intentionally allow themselves to remain ignorant. The feeling of hypocrisy in the pit of my stomach is like soured bile threatening to resurface. I really wish I could help you, I really do.

And it is perspective-galvanising to realise how terribly small and helpless you can feel. I feel obliged to say it, but truly, I'm sorry.

---

Contrary to the supposed tone of this entry, I had an amazing day today. Beyond amazing, in fact, which is no doubt quite a rarity of late. But it was a splendid day -- seeing familiar faces and catching up with old friends, telling jokes and wiping tears (of glee), dishing gossip and trading heartbreaks, feasting on junk food and gorging on the beautiful sound of unrestrained laughter. It was lovely seeing my primary school friends again, even those who I failed to keep in touch with. Oh how I miss the days of '08, life back then was oh so good. Today was a good day.

Every now and then, you inevitably feel that burning longing to return to that kingdom; to renew your loyalty, submit to royalty. You wonder why you have never outwardly proclaimed the injustice of your exile – the inarguable, perennial banishment from the place you have come to view as your sanctuary, a place where you seek refuge from the restraining forces of the outside world.

A trifling being in a midst of a grandeurous land, within the all-encapsulating power of seeming divinity; you cannot help but feel an indomitable compulsion to capitulate to this veritable force of sanctity. Each and every aspect of this enchanting and enigmatic kingdom drew you in from the very start; it took your breath away, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. And soon you develop this ineffable need to be part of this community, a persistent yet almost wistful yearning to be accepted in these sacred halls of this nirvana.

Exile cuts like a blunt knife through butter; like a lightning bolt ripping through the sky.

You stagger out of the celestial gates with the vestiges of your shredded dignity, and the swelling sense of indignation. Practically an empty shell, you are left with next to nothing – the result of your unwavering commitment to the kingdom that hardheartedly turned its back against you, the result of your endless contribution to a seemingly bottomless chasm which never once brought you anything thing in return. Standing outside the barb-wired borders, the conspicuous flaws of the formally flawless come to light. You begin to see its inherent ugliness; its sinister creatures that lurked in its streets; its malicious motives that were constantly kept under the wraps, billowing deep under, unseen and unapparent.

True, an ethereal utopia can be transformed to the monstrous pits of Tartarus in a glance. So why does parting with such a horrid place feel so heart-wrenching? Perhaps its that elusive sense of belonging you experienced when you were once a part; one that brought you illumination and hope, and made you feel greater than anything you will ever be.

Between the loyal subject and the heartless queen, there is nothing left but the unspoken regrets of what-might-have-been.

Life has been strange ever since the Os are over. It seems as though the sole purpose of my life has been entirely eliminated. Without an urgent task at hand and a definite deadline in sight to pressurise me, I am beginning to have too much time once again for my mind to wander. It would be utterly hypocritical of me to say that I enjoyed every moment of prep work for the Os – I did not – but it was undeniably a good distraction. It kept my mind busy, and it kept my life on track. Every thing was routine, I knew I was pressed for time, I slept early, I was constantly preoccupied when I was awake. In fact, that couple of weeks I spent in school during study leave were partly some of my happiest days, despite the craziness of things and the vexed nerves. It felt good working towards something, working for something.

And then it all just ended.

I guess I saw it coming all along. That last few weeks before the Os – though perhaps the most stressful ones of my life – were what makes every journey count. But also, they were the beginning of the end. The end of something that gave my life definition, and something that kept me walking up every day to fight against and to fight towards. We all need some driving force in our lives, you know? And somehow that humongous exam gave me just what I need.

Be it motivation or distraction, the Os was such a dominant part of my life. It was practically my entire life itself. And with it gone, I once again have nothing to obsess over. Which is pretty self-destructive in itself.

I packed my holidays with travelling. When I wasn't travelling, I busied myself with meet-ups. I try to keep myself occupied, I try to make myself hang around people. In fact, barely back for 2 days and I have made it a point to fill up my January with plans generously. I don't know why I need to do this, but a voice in my head repeatedly reminds me that I have to. Back-to-back plans and non-stop activities are what I need to keep myself together.

---

Do you not get tired? Well, I can no longer tell if I am finally sinking under the burden of exhaustion or if I have been tired all along. Perhaps having to come to terms with one's inner demons and hyperactive mental workings is much more tiring as opposed to perpetual movement.

Perhaps I am just someone who needs, note not chooses but needs, those countless reminders that I can have people around when I want if I want. I generally have nothing whatsoever against spending time on my own (in fact I usually enjoy it very much), but it's just these days my mind is getting too loud for me to ignore and there are some unresolved and incomprehensible issues that simply would not go away, and they will probably never go away unless you take them down head first, but that is almost impossible when you dont know where they reside or what form that take. Knowing how to commence and carry out a battle is tough, finding the courage to proceed is tougher, but what trumps it all is fighting when you don't know what it is you're fighting. One cannot fight thin air; it is not long before you lose interest if not burn out. Just like a dog chasing it's tail.

And then one day you ask yourself, perhaps this thing that you're egging yourself towards for a wrestle is so small its negligible. Perhaps you were meant to learn to live with it, whatever this malevolent creature is. Perhaps it is indeed something everyone encounters and continues life with as baggage – necessary baggage. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was never there to begin with. You merely made it up. Just to feel a little less alone in that hour of desperation. 

Maybe you're afraid. Don't worry, every one is. Or was, before they overcame it. Try to get over it. I know, but what if you don't know what it is that you're afraid of. Or what if you know that you'd never be able to cross over that hurdle regardless of what you do. What if it is yourself that you are afraid of. When does it end when you are fearing yourself, or fighting yourself. When does this vicious cycle of self-destruction end.

You know, things do not have to be as convoluted as you make them to be. Do we still have choices? And for how much longer?

If every year of our lives is a mountain we need to ascend, 2012 was one hell of a climb. Plagued with endless adversities and prevailing resistances, the past year (though incredibly memorable) was nothing short of a challenge. Nonetheless, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - these tough times served to better position us to tackle greater threats and brave stormier seas. Come 2013, lets find the determination within ourselves to put aside any emotional baggage and persevere on with our chin up; seek to correct old mistakes and have the courage to admit to new ones; bear in mind the importance to constantly express our appreciation and gratitude, and not to take the people & blessed moments around us for granted; be sensitive to those struggling around us and celebrate the achievements of those who found well-deserved success; never hesitate to extend a helping hand, or to ask for help; to allow ourselves to let loose and be happy, whilst not fearing to reveal sorrow and pain; be generous, empathetic and accepting; and finally, have the courage to be true and honest to both ourselves, and those around us. Hereby lets celebrate the start to a new year: cheers to renewal and remembrance!