Just Do It

"You have to study."

"You're still too young."

"Getting too involved is not good."

"If it's right, it'll happen even years after this."




It amazes me how much they talked. At the time listening, all I could do was nod and smile, which probably made me trick myself into thinking that I was getting a lot of wisdom from these people.

Thinking back now, that wisdom is basically the above four statements. Things that I already know.

Of all the teenagers in the city, of all the naive, foolish little girls roaming about Kota Kinabalu, I'd think I was amongst the more matured ones. 'Matured' in this context is not necessarily a good thing. I mean 'matured' as in having conformed to the mentality of the adults around us.

And no one can say it's because I've never been through anything.

Part of what I thought I learnt, I learnt from watching my best friends go through heaven and hell. Another part I learnt from stories adults tell. Another part was common sense. Another part was experience.

I'm wondering, what did I learn? A load of negative perceptions that many would disagree with.

And then, all of a sudden... And then.




What simply frustrates me to tears is how people think I don't want to take their advice and act. I'm trying to.

But they're giving me instructions through a walkie-talkie, when they've never seen the bomb, hoity-toity, and I'm the one handling the situation. DO THIS! They scream. My hands shake. My judgment tells me better. But before I can think further, they shout again. DO THIS, I COMMAND YOU. WE HAVE EXPERIENCE.

*censored* you, your experience won't save me if the bomb blows up in my face.




Morbid and cold. Rare few have suffered that worst side of me. And while it certainly brought about retribution, while the worst itself existed, nothing could hurt me. I can still remember how it felt. A cold hatred burning inside me that simply destroyed anything that came near. Poor guy. He never knew what happened.

That's simply a sin. I can't do that again, I won't. Stop trying to drag it out. For how extremely sensitive I can be, imagine how extreme I can go to the other end. God help me.




Instead, I shall make like a rag-doll. Easily overlooked, thrown about, abandoned, dirtied. Nevertheless, just as easily picked up, hugged and washed. And if I get stomped on, the damage is minimal.

Falling was not much of a choice. It still isn't.









I like your passion for Christ. I like how honest you are. I like how you can handle me. I like how your emotional strength steps in at the most emergent of times. I like how you understand people. I like your laugh. I like the way you go for what you want to do. I like your height. I like how interchangeable your recklessness and your cautiousness are. I like your social ability. I like your sense of fashion. I like your command of English. I like how strict you can be. I like your intelligence. I like your adorable little tantrums. I like how sensitive you can be. I like your uncertainty. I like your hair. I like how you keep annoying me by making me squirm. I like that you keep forgiving me for forgetting. I like that you're so human. I like your hugs. I like how immature you can act. I like your random randomness. I like that you have best friends. I like how you view your past. I like how you know things. I like that you like pink. I like that you accept so many of my flaws. I like that you sing. I like how you play the piano. I like how nice you are to people. I like your playfulness. I like your company. I like the sincerity in the compliments you give. I like how you can still blush. I like that you love families. I like how you remember.

Like? Love. Yeah, basically, you.




I'm still trembling. Too many wires. I don't see a timer but they claim that there is. I don't trust them. I don't trust myself either, so now what? What's at stake?

CUT DOWN CONTACT, NOW!







Signed, Carmelia.


Feeling, unstable.
Thinking, cutting.