Something.

I've left the title blank for now. Maybe I'll put something in after I'm finished with this post. Maybe not. This isn't the best time for me to be blogging. Mum usually expects action now, like showers, dinner, and chores. I wanted to go jogging, but turned back midway because the skies were way too gray, despite it only being 5.30pm. Or maybe, I was feeling too gray.

Sophia and I watched the last two episodes of a drama series last night. Endings are the most special parts of a journey to me, but only if there has been a long, tedious stretch of something in front, bursting with incidents, emotions, words, meanings... The short moments of pensiveness I go through when I'm near the end of a novel are usually summed up with words along the lines of, all the things they've been through, to get here.

To get to somewhere.

2010 is the most eventful amongst the seventeen years that I've been through. Incidents usually get littered about in my life, important & influential, but never as blotchy and prominent as certain events were this year.

Or maybe, as your grow older, incidents will become objectively bigger, in comparison not with your own experiences, but with what the world thinks is huge. A major crush in Form One will seem like everything to the poor girl, and perhaps getting married is no big deal to that man, but throw the two events out into the world and I'm guessing the marriage will be deemed more worthy of attention.

Back in Form One, I was buying new clothes and doing up my hair and planning weeks before, before going to a school concert that I didn't watch more than half of. Now, I get my dress ready a few hours before, and go all impromptu as emcee for a posh Sixth Form promenade. I'm a big girl!

Well, I'm not, but I couldn't help but say that. Eighteen is such a lovely age to me, a bottle-neck where responsibilities start gushing in, but you're still young enough to be a teenager.

I'm already eighteen. Being able to enter that club by just flashing my IC- Well, not really. The bouncer decided to mess with me, and then the other bouncer at the back door also messed with me after that, by telling me that I couldn't go in. Why? Because I wasn't born in 1991. Being me, of course, I just felt all dazed up until the man laughed and patted my shoulder. "Masuk lah."

The day I turned eighteen, I felt as though a protective shield had just melted off me. Exposed is a word I'd use, in relation to the temptations of the world, but more to my own weaknesses and desires. I can drink, drive, smoke, work, go clubbing, get married, do an o.n.s, and they'll all be legal. The adults can only scold, lecture, disown me- But I can. It's not that I may, anymore. I can. I won't get thrown into jail, they can't have the police on me or lock me up.

And the older I get, the less scary the prospect of leaving my parents will be. So what can stop me from going crazy?

At that point, there's usually this mental image of me looking out into the future at someone else, only that person's still me. A Godless girl, doing whatever she wants, and only being disciplined for things that will cool her up. Writing, maybe, and getting involved in worldly music scenes. Learn to dance and devote herself to it. Still being nice by doing community work, being loyal to friends, sending money home. Have a boyfriend and love him with all her heart. Get a motorcycle. Become borderline anorexic. Go all Gothic, pierce her lips, but not tattooing anything because that ain't cool. Write some more.

Oh Lord. That's such a picture to paint. It won't sound bad at all to many out there, but that's because they don't know, the most important word amongst all that is Godless. I can't. I won't. I don't know if I'm deceiving myself or trying to sound all holy and great, but I do believe that the sad feeling inside when I think about how it'd be if I forsake Jesus is because I love Him. The feeling rarely grows, because I'd stop imagining things and start thinking about what I can do to not break His heart now.

I have not been through a lot. I think I'm glad I haven't, because being the stupid girl I was (am), I would've made so many mistakes. I haven't. I can't really think of anything that I regret now. It worries me, because some of them are sins, and if I don't regret sins then I don't think God would have forgiven me, would He? I don't regret them because I learn from them, I become better, stronger, wiser. They fill up my life, I'm not just a perfect little dolly who won't be able to be honest when she tells people that she knows what they're going through. Is that wrong, God? I'm just sad that they broke His heart, those sins. But I don't regret them. Is that wrong? Or maybe regret isn't the appropriate term to use.

That time I was walking back from the hill, and my abdomen hurt so, so much, all I could think of was every step I have taken. People tell us to look ahead in times of pain, to focus on the goal and the sunlight. But I didn't then, I was pushing on by telling myself, you know what, you've already come so far. So far. One more step, and that's one more painful step you're leaving behind. The distance you've overcome is awesome.

Perhaps that's why I place so much importance on the time it'll take for a friendship to blossom into romance. The longer it is, the better. The more storms would have been weathered, the deeper the commitment, the murkier the line between romance and love.

No. It isn't better because the time taken is longer, expanded over months and years. I think I know that now. Because I've known people for ages and the strength of the friendships I share with them is barely a tenth of the friendship I share with certain characters I've met mere months ago. The quantity of the time spent together is really nothing compared to the quality, yeah?

I might prove myself wrong, again, but that's what I think for now.

Back then, maybe because I was inexperienced, maybe because I'd jumped into things so fast I immediately knew something was wrong and was choking myself to death trying to resurface as quickly as possible, I told myself that two years would be the prerequisite for any romance to be acceptable in a friendship. Two years, a long enough time for enough storms to be weathered. Maybe four or five good, solid chapters, before the main characters finally get together. I do love endings that come after tedious, beautifully stuffed journeys. In every story plot I've penned, the boy only gets the girl after everything's done. I don't remember any one time where I've let the hero & heroine become an item before the fifth chapter.

Funny. If there's anyone who can frustrate me and make me dizzy with confusion, it's myself.

Mum comes in close as first runner-up. That lady is seriously driving me nuts.

Everything that has happened.


Signed, Carmelia.


Feeling, melancholic.
Thinking, journey ahead looks like an adventure, darling! It's going to be alright.