This is my 'get-it-done' list, from //LIVE*
Planning to:
1. Get my very own camera. Check.
2. Get my very own laptop. Check.
3. Pass Piano Practical Grade 7. We'll see, won't we?
4. Finish writing a novel. Forget about this until after STPM.
5. Get my novel published. Ditto.
6. Watch the complete set of Ouran Host Club. Check.
7. Cook curry.
8. Bake cookies on my own.
9. Visit Cheshire Home.
10. Lose ten kilograms. This is so difficult. I can go days without food, but people around me will get all uptight and over worry. Eat a little this, eat a little that. I eat a little, it triggers serious hunger pangs. We'll see.
11. Go on vacation with friends. I wish.
12. Stay and have fun in a posh hotel with friends. Check.
13. Take picture with a mime artist.
14. Post first ever v-log.
15. Make a cloth doll.
16. Play an electric guitar. Working on it. It's taking me a long time to be able to play the acoustic smoothly, but I'm progressing.
17. Bring Bunny for a dry-clean session. How can pink turn into gray? Sigh.
18. Straighten front teeth. Now that I think about it, my teeth's straight. Sorta. Just not properly in front.
19. Get paid for a published article or story.
20. Write my very own blog layout html code.
21. Compose and write a song. I did this before. Posted the lyrics on one of my blogs. I'd forgotten about it and it isn't a song I can claim I finished writing.
22. Visit Korea. Just so.
23. Visit Ireland.
24. Design & paint/wallpaper a room.
25. Get 99 roses.
26. Obtain two rabbits.
27. Sing & dedicate the song 'Smile' by Uncle Kracker to a loved one.
The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray.
I find myself giving much attention to the word 'often'. I agree that the best laid of plans can still go astray, but often? Do they? Even if someone does a huge research and survey on this, we'll never know.
Something someone wrote in their blog sometimes get stuck in my head. Something about how people simply throws everything into God's hand and do nothing. That's one extreme. The other's trying to plan everything so that life goes entirely your way.
Is it possible to totally surrender oneself to God, and still be able to plan and make the best effort to work that plan?
I'd planned several things that totally didn't happen. And I was able to let them go very easily. Too easily, maybe. My inclination towards that first extreme threatens to burden me with guilt sometimes. "I don't do enough. Where's the effort?"
The most obvious thing to do, when I can't find that balance, is to do what the Lord so obviously commands me to do. Why bother so much about plans that seem so complicated and neutral when I can't even properly obey the most straight-forward of commandments in the Bible?
I have to go now. Mum's going berserk again. So much for me planning to finish a proper blog post today. =)
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, alright.
Thinking, que sera sera, but take your steps forward anyway.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
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.
"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.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Piano Examination Grade 7
Location: Imperial (Warisan Square)
Time: 10:10am
Event: ABRSM Piano Examinations
I woke up at 7, even though I'd set my alarm to go off at 6. Again, I am reminded that my alarm clock is seriously not capable of waking me up. I need to get a proper alarm that can wake up the living dead.
Started practicing, and by the time Sophia came downstairs groggily, I'd have practiced for an hour. Freaked out a bit, laughing and yelling. Finally, we're off.
The waiting room was in room 830, and the examination room was a couple of doors away. You may not stay in the area to listen to what was going on in there. Not that I wanted to. Walking past those few times, I'd heard really good scale playing and that intimidated me.
And when I'm intimidated, I'm scared. And when I'm scared?
Nothing happens in particular. I just don't like being scared, okay? I need security.
While waiting (I had to wait for half an hour) the steward asked me how old I was. I said, seventeen going on eighteen.
"Wow, Grade Seven already? So young? Very clever."
Erm. Right. Thank goodness they can't listen in on what happens in the examination room. Or know whether I'd actually pass. If I don't, I'm only Grade 4. At any rate, I have friends who'd achieved Grade 8 way before they were seventeen.
By then I was already going all giggly and walking about. I had to visit the washroom like, four times. Been drinking water like a fish since last night.
And the blah, and the blah, and the finally it was my turn. I went in.
Basically, I messed up the scales. Scales is a huge section, with a lot of sub-sections. Teacher Tiong always drilled me by going down systematically, so I was totally caught off-guard when Mr. Timothy (my examiner, nice, warm, booming Englishman) started calling out keys at random.
Before I started, I always had to digest what it was that he'd said for ten seconds, before my fingers actually went for it. Very slow. That can't be good.
He'd called for an E flat melodic minor, and I gave him a harmonic. After that, he was telling me nicely, "That wasn't a melodic minor, was it?"
"Oh. OH no. Should I repeat it, sir?"
Apparently, it's okay, I don't have to repeat it. What he didn't say was why. Because the damage is done, sistah.
AND one of the scales he asked for only the left hand. WTHECK? I had to ask him, "Erm, left hand only, sir?"
My first piece I did... alright. The dynamics (change of loudness) weren't very clear. The keys were stiffer than I was used to, and as everyone knows (if you didn't know, now you do) my fingers are weak. Fumbling at a few spots, especially the fast trills.
The second piece, I did better than I expected. This was a difficult piece for me. The second piece have always posed a problem for me because the second piece usually requires more technical skills. But I did well. Apart from some fumbling, and again, murky dynamics, it was alright. For my Grade 4 examination, I had to repeat the whole thing because I got stuck midway and can't go on.
The third piece is my favorite. Or was. There's a glissando at the end (You drag your palm or fingers across the keyboard and it HURTS). I managed to pull it off. Barely.
Next, sight reading. Ahhh. Mmmm. The piece I got wasn't the easiest for me, because it had flats. I prefer sharps to flats. I prefer nothing to sharps. And it started off with staccatos. I don't like staccatos in my sight-reading pieces because that means I can drraaaaaaagggggg the notes to cover up my having to count what the next note is. But it was alright. Very, very slow, and some wrong notes in the middle, but alright. Mr. Timothy told me to stop in the middle. That's normal. For me. My sight-reading had always... Been... Less than satisfactory.
Aural. For my past four practicals, I'd gotten 17, 18 marks out of 18 for the Aural Awareness section. Pretty good.
This time, I'll be amazed to get a 13.
Singing I thought I did good, but how good could I have done when Mr. Timothy actually had to look me in the eyes, and told me he'll repeat it a third time for me to try?
Sight-singing went better than I expected, but that's because I got a relatively easy piece. NO sharps, NO flats, chord's a basic C major and the time signature's a four/four. For those who don't know what all that means, basically it means answering mere ABCs when you'd expected to have to write essays. So I started off really well, correct timing, correct pitching... AND THEN it had to go all the way UP to the next octave and... I lost track of the pitches. So I did what I thought I had to do. Let my voice shoot out randomly with any pitching it can reach.
Modulation sucked. I had no idea what he wanted me to say after he'd played the piece. Teacher Tiong taught me that there were three answers: Dominant, Sub-Dominant, and Relative Minor. But he didn't mention any of those. I looked at him, frightened to death, and asked, what it was that he wanted me to answer. He was like, "Mmm. Sigh."
OH GAWD how can I PASS?
In the end, he had mercy on me and told me in what form the answer should be. "I gave you this key, so what key is this and this?"
"Oh. Erm. E?" (Minor? Major? BLAH?) "And then... D." (Minor? Major? Double BLAH?)
"Are you sure of the sequence?"
Trick question much. "Erm... Mm... Yes."
After that, Mr. Timothy played a piece. I had to describe the tonality, and the style. I think I pretty much gave him the right answers, because after every response, he was like, "Ahh..." Lean back, close his eyes, as though he'd just figured out how gravity works.
"The piece is in... A major key. And... It... Stayed major."
"Ahh."
"The style's... Romantic."
"Ahh. Why is that?"
"Because it is... expressive."
"Ahh."
I was going all, "And..." Because I thought I had to give an elaborate answer as to why I thought it was romantic. But then there was the 'Ahh.' so I stopped. He stopped, and looked at me expectantly. Or warningly. You're already correct. You want to risk...?
And I went, "Erm. Yeah."
Finally, CLAPPING.
TEACHER! I don't want to blame you but... YOU TOTALLY NEVER WENT THROUGH CLAPPING WITH ME!
I'd seen it on the net, read about it in the book, but somehow (oh boy, this somehow here is really really some HOW THE HECK?) I never brought it up with her.
Mr. Timothy played the piece TWICE, and both times I was standing there, frozen. Did he say clapping? I think I heard clapping. Is that what he wants me to do? What is this? Why isn't he saying anything?
After he finished playing, he looked at me. I was blank. After a few awkward seconds, I was forced to ask him, "What... Was the question?"
So now you guys know lah, why I failed. If I fail. When I fail.
Oh, I ended up clapping. Halfheartedly, weakly, WRONGLY.
The possible answers are: 2, 3, 4, and 6/8
I told him, 4, but now, thinking back, only a 6/8 could've managed to confuse me so, so much. I'd have done 2, 3, and 4 time since I was in Grade One. These would never confuse me, being such good buddies with me. No, I'm sure now, that was a strange, evil 6/8.
And I accidentally hit my head on one of the bed lamps, and it fell, and hit my head again, and kinda shattered a bit. So now if the bill for it comes, and it's RM200, and I fail my RM400 examination...
Mummy, I love you.
But she was all indignant about it. What if the glass cut my daughter? Huh? Then we'll be suing them! They should be thankful it didn't cut her!
Mother's are cool like that. Indignant and angry and protective and... Stingy...
So that was that. And I'm so glad it's over. Given the short span of time I had to practice, which was nobody's fault but mine alone, I think I did quite okay. God really, really helped me this time, I know. Even if He didn't, I don't really mind because I had a lesson to learn. No procrastinations, darling. No more.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, relieved.
Thinking, on to other issues!
Time: 10:10am
Event: ABRSM Piano Examinations
I woke up at 7, even though I'd set my alarm to go off at 6. Again, I am reminded that my alarm clock is seriously not capable of waking me up. I need to get a proper alarm that can wake up the living dead.
Started practicing, and by the time Sophia came downstairs groggily, I'd have practiced for an hour. Freaked out a bit, laughing and yelling. Finally, we're off.
The waiting room was in room 830, and the examination room was a couple of doors away. You may not stay in the area to listen to what was going on in there. Not that I wanted to. Walking past those few times, I'd heard really good scale playing and that intimidated me.
And when I'm intimidated, I'm scared. And when I'm scared?
Nothing happens in particular. I just don't like being scared, okay? I need security.
While waiting (I had to wait for half an hour) the steward asked me how old I was. I said, seventeen going on eighteen.
"Wow, Grade Seven already? So young? Very clever."
Erm. Right. Thank goodness they can't listen in on what happens in the examination room. Or know whether I'd actually pass. If I don't, I'm only Grade 4. At any rate, I have friends who'd achieved Grade 8 way before they were seventeen.
By then I was already going all giggly and walking about. I had to visit the washroom like, four times. Been drinking water like a fish since last night.
And the blah, and the blah, and the finally it was my turn. I went in.
Basically, I messed up the scales. Scales is a huge section, with a lot of sub-sections. Teacher Tiong always drilled me by going down systematically, so I was totally caught off-guard when Mr. Timothy (my examiner, nice, warm, booming Englishman) started calling out keys at random.
Before I started, I always had to digest what it was that he'd said for ten seconds, before my fingers actually went for it. Very slow. That can't be good.
He'd called for an E flat melodic minor, and I gave him a harmonic. After that, he was telling me nicely, "That wasn't a melodic minor, was it?"
"Oh. OH no. Should I repeat it, sir?"
Apparently, it's okay, I don't have to repeat it. What he didn't say was why. Because the damage is done, sistah.
AND one of the scales he asked for only the left hand. WTHECK? I had to ask him, "Erm, left hand only, sir?"
My first piece I did... alright. The dynamics (change of loudness) weren't very clear. The keys were stiffer than I was used to, and as everyone knows (if you didn't know, now you do) my fingers are weak. Fumbling at a few spots, especially the fast trills.
The second piece, I did better than I expected. This was a difficult piece for me. The second piece have always posed a problem for me because the second piece usually requires more technical skills. But I did well. Apart from some fumbling, and again, murky dynamics, it was alright. For my Grade 4 examination, I had to repeat the whole thing because I got stuck midway and can't go on.
The third piece is my favorite. Or was. There's a glissando at the end (You drag your palm or fingers across the keyboard and it HURTS). I managed to pull it off. Barely.
Next, sight reading. Ahhh. Mmmm. The piece I got wasn't the easiest for me, because it had flats. I prefer sharps to flats. I prefer nothing to sharps. And it started off with staccatos. I don't like staccatos in my sight-reading pieces because that means I can drraaaaaaagggggg the notes to cover up my having to count what the next note is. But it was alright. Very, very slow, and some wrong notes in the middle, but alright. Mr. Timothy told me to stop in the middle. That's normal. For me. My sight-reading had always... Been... Less than satisfactory.
Aural. For my past four practicals, I'd gotten 17, 18 marks out of 18 for the Aural Awareness section. Pretty good.
This time, I'll be amazed to get a 13.
Singing I thought I did good, but how good could I have done when Mr. Timothy actually had to look me in the eyes, and told me he'll repeat it a third time for me to try?
Sight-singing went better than I expected, but that's because I got a relatively easy piece. NO sharps, NO flats, chord's a basic C major and the time signature's a four/four. For those who don't know what all that means, basically it means answering mere ABCs when you'd expected to have to write essays. So I started off really well, correct timing, correct pitching... AND THEN it had to go all the way UP to the next octave and... I lost track of the pitches. So I did what I thought I had to do. Let my voice shoot out randomly with any pitching it can reach.
Modulation sucked. I had no idea what he wanted me to say after he'd played the piece. Teacher Tiong taught me that there were three answers: Dominant, Sub-Dominant, and Relative Minor. But he didn't mention any of those. I looked at him, frightened to death, and asked, what it was that he wanted me to answer. He was like, "Mmm. Sigh."
OH GAWD how can I PASS?
In the end, he had mercy on me and told me in what form the answer should be. "I gave you this key, so what key is this and this?"
"Oh. Erm. E?" (Minor? Major? BLAH?) "And then... D." (Minor? Major? Double BLAH?)
"Are you sure of the sequence?"
Trick question much. "Erm... Mm... Yes."
After that, Mr. Timothy played a piece. I had to describe the tonality, and the style. I think I pretty much gave him the right answers, because after every response, he was like, "Ahh..." Lean back, close his eyes, as though he'd just figured out how gravity works.
"The piece is in... A major key. And... It... Stayed major."
"Ahh."
"The style's... Romantic."
"Ahh. Why is that?"
"Because it is... expressive."
"Ahh."
I was going all, "And..." Because I thought I had to give an elaborate answer as to why I thought it was romantic. But then there was the 'Ahh.' so I stopped. He stopped, and looked at me expectantly. Or warningly. You're already correct. You want to risk...?
And I went, "Erm. Yeah."
Finally, CLAPPING.
TEACHER! I don't want to blame you but... YOU TOTALLY NEVER WENT THROUGH CLAPPING WITH ME!
I'd seen it on the net, read about it in the book, but somehow (oh boy, this somehow here is really really some HOW THE HECK?) I never brought it up with her.
Mr. Timothy played the piece TWICE, and both times I was standing there, frozen. Did he say clapping? I think I heard clapping. Is that what he wants me to do? What is this? Why isn't he saying anything?
After he finished playing, he looked at me. I was blank. After a few awkward seconds, I was forced to ask him, "What... Was the question?"
So now you guys know lah, why I failed. If I fail. When I fail.
Oh, I ended up clapping. Halfheartedly, weakly, WRONGLY.
The possible answers are: 2, 3, 4, and 6/8
I told him, 4, but now, thinking back, only a 6/8 could've managed to confuse me so, so much. I'd have done 2, 3, and 4 time since I was in Grade One. These would never confuse me, being such good buddies with me. No, I'm sure now, that was a strange, evil 6/8.
And I accidentally hit my head on one of the bed lamps, and it fell, and hit my head again, and kinda shattered a bit. So now if the bill for it comes, and it's RM200, and I fail my RM400 examination...
Mummy, I love you.
But she was all indignant about it. What if the glass cut my daughter? Huh? Then we'll be suing them! They should be thankful it didn't cut her!
Mother's are cool like that. Indignant and angry and protective and... Stingy...
So that was that. And I'm so glad it's over. Given the short span of time I had to practice, which was nobody's fault but mine alone, I think I did quite okay. God really, really helped me this time, I know. Even if He didn't, I don't really mind because I had a lesson to learn. No procrastinations, darling. No more.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, relieved.
Thinking, on to other issues!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Piano Examination: < 24 hours
Not being able to log into Facebook is horrible.
And I keep glancing at my phone.
I'd finished watching Anastasia, after going through my scales, arpeggios, and exam pieces, and now my family's just come back.
Mum: "Ei, no practice piano?"
Melia: "I did, you don't want me to continue practicing and practicing and practicing, yeah?"
Dad: "Only asking if you practiced, and you have to give such a long answer?"
I thought mum was asking present tense, dad. But whatever.
See. Me being defensive again. Sometimes, or maybe all the time, I should just shut up and let other people take the first step. One step from them, one step from me. Why do I keep running forward when I end up slowing to an awkward stop?
Is it just me? Are there only a bunch of people in the world who simply hate to be wrong? Am I one of them?
I'd think I'm quick to acknowledge my mistakes. Quicker than most, anyway.
Stop overthinking.
Practicing the piano recently is like working out for me. I was sweating, it was that intense. All those staccatos- and my fingers aren't exactly strong. I have little, weak fingers. It's amazing what I can do with them. I draw, I type, I play the guitar, the piano. You'd have thought they'd developed stronger muscles, but I don't feel that.
My fingers keep slipping off the keys, especially the black ones.
I'm having the most problem with my contrary motions now. These are scales that you play with both hands starting in the middle, and going spread out in opposite directions. Like a mirror.
Asides that, I'm worried about my aural. I always get perfect scores for the aural section (more or less perfect) but this time I'm not sure I"d pass that section, even.
Don't even get me started on my sight singing and reading. I can't sing notes, I'm tone-deaf that way. And as for reading notes, I can't even play Sophia's Grade 2 pieces.
If I pass, it's all God's doing. None of mine. If I pass, I'm sure my fingers were taking orders from something other than my brain. My brain is officially frazzled out.
And then there's my PA assignment. The presentation isn't that difficult to do, but the folio is a different story. So I can't celebrate yet after I come out from the examination room. I have to call up my team members and work out how we're supposed to finish the whole thing within two days.
Well, honestly. My life isn't that bad. In fact, it's really good.
Worst case scenario: I fail Grade 7.
Worst case scenario: I get scolded for not finishing my assignments, essays and journal.
So what?
I keep getting nightmares recently. I don't know why.
I feel like meeting up with Melissa and any of the rest of the gang, whoever, and just sit there and talk. We don't meet very often, sometimes we go weeks without contact, but we still stayed best friends. So...
I'm as stubborn as a famished bulldog that's not letting go of a fresh steak. Back off. Growl.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, on the verge of okay.
Thinking, one step at a time.
And I keep glancing at my phone.
I'd finished watching Anastasia, after going through my scales, arpeggios, and exam pieces, and now my family's just come back.
Mum: "Ei, no practice piano?"
Melia: "I did, you don't want me to continue practicing and practicing and practicing, yeah?"
Dad: "Only asking if you practiced, and you have to give such a long answer?"
I thought mum was asking present tense, dad. But whatever.
See. Me being defensive again. Sometimes, or maybe all the time, I should just shut up and let other people take the first step. One step from them, one step from me. Why do I keep running forward when I end up slowing to an awkward stop?
Is it just me? Are there only a bunch of people in the world who simply hate to be wrong? Am I one of them?
I'd think I'm quick to acknowledge my mistakes. Quicker than most, anyway.
Stop overthinking.
Practicing the piano recently is like working out for me. I was sweating, it was that intense. All those staccatos- and my fingers aren't exactly strong. I have little, weak fingers. It's amazing what I can do with them. I draw, I type, I play the guitar, the piano. You'd have thought they'd developed stronger muscles, but I don't feel that.
My fingers keep slipping off the keys, especially the black ones.
I'm having the most problem with my contrary motions now. These are scales that you play with both hands starting in the middle, and going spread out in opposite directions. Like a mirror.
Asides that, I'm worried about my aural. I always get perfect scores for the aural section (more or less perfect) but this time I'm not sure I"d pass that section, even.
Don't even get me started on my sight singing and reading. I can't sing notes, I'm tone-deaf that way. And as for reading notes, I can't even play Sophia's Grade 2 pieces.
If I pass, it's all God's doing. None of mine. If I pass, I'm sure my fingers were taking orders from something other than my brain. My brain is officially frazzled out.
And then there's my PA assignment. The presentation isn't that difficult to do, but the folio is a different story. So I can't celebrate yet after I come out from the examination room. I have to call up my team members and work out how we're supposed to finish the whole thing within two days.
Well, honestly. My life isn't that bad. In fact, it's really good.
Worst case scenario: I fail Grade 7.
Worst case scenario: I get scolded for not finishing my assignments, essays and journal.
So what?
I keep getting nightmares recently. I don't know why.
I feel like meeting up with Melissa and any of the rest of the gang, whoever, and just sit there and talk. We don't meet very often, sometimes we go weeks without contact, but we still stayed best friends. So...
I'm as stubborn as a famished bulldog that's not letting go of a fresh steak. Back off. Growl.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, on the verge of okay.
Thinking, one step at a time.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Pre- Grade 7 Piano Examination (43.5 hours)
I have approximately...
*counts*
before the examination.
I'll be breathing, thinking, feeling MUSIC
...and because I'm not the type who goes all "MUSIC IS MY LIFE", that is definitely going to DRIVE ME CRAZY.
*Britney Spears* You drive me kwwaaaaaa-zeeee~~
It's like releasing a bird into the wild... Ocean.
Sunday night was one of the worst nights emotionally for me. I'd have overdosed on Became if dad didn't accidentally see the pills on the table. I didn't plan to commit suicide, mind you, I'm not that stupid. I just really, really wanted to go to sleep. Now I know how horrible it is when you can't sleep because... Well, you just can't sleep.
And then I woke up all quiet and... I'm not sure how I was, but I must have acted weird because around 9, mum told me to get into the car and drive the both of us to Sister Suk's.
I didn't really want to go. The adults just keep telling me things I already know. I know. I know. Shoot, I FREAKING KNOW ALREADY.
But I just went. And I'm glad I did. Yeah, Sister Suk did tell me things I already know, but somehow she managed to re-confirm some important facts. We prayed. I talked a bit, she talked a bit. We discussed a bit.
Nigel texted me, so I knew he was alright and he wasn't, well, totally pissed and mad at me.
I don't know what is the cause, what is the sub-cause, exactly what solved the problem and what helped...
Bottom line, I felt so much better as I drove home with mum.
:D
Thank You Jesus. Even if this feel-good thing is only going to last as long as I need it to, well, at least let it continue now. This piano examination is already killing me. I'm setting all my assignments aside, for the weekend. Now, it's music, music, music.
*gag*
I thought I was so strong, but I'd just forgotten how terrible it is to feel that explosion happening again and again inside you and there is absolutely nothing you can do to make it stop. That happened like, what? Four years ago? I'm not sure even if this isn't the first time.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, weird.
Thinking, I'm so sorry. To a lot of people. For a lot of things.
*counts*
24 hours + 9.5 hours + 10 hours
= 43.5 hours
= 43.5 hours
before the examination.
I'll be breathing, thinking, feeling MUSIC
...and because I'm not the type who goes all "MUSIC IS MY LIFE", that is definitely going to DRIVE ME CRAZY.
*Britney Spears* You drive me kwwaaaaaa-zeeee~~
It's like releasing a bird into the wild... Ocean.
Sunday night was one of the worst nights emotionally for me. I'd have overdosed on Became if dad didn't accidentally see the pills on the table. I didn't plan to commit suicide, mind you, I'm not that stupid. I just really, really wanted to go to sleep. Now I know how horrible it is when you can't sleep because... Well, you just can't sleep.
And then I woke up all quiet and... I'm not sure how I was, but I must have acted weird because around 9, mum told me to get into the car and drive the both of us to Sister Suk's.
I didn't really want to go. The adults just keep telling me things I already know. I know. I know. Shoot, I FREAKING KNOW ALREADY.
But I just went. And I'm glad I did. Yeah, Sister Suk did tell me things I already know, but somehow she managed to re-confirm some important facts. We prayed. I talked a bit, she talked a bit. We discussed a bit.
Nigel texted me, so I knew he was alright and he wasn't, well, totally pissed and mad at me.
I don't know what is the cause, what is the sub-cause, exactly what solved the problem and what helped...
Bottom line, I felt so much better as I drove home with mum.
:D
Thank You Jesus. Even if this feel-good thing is only going to last as long as I need it to, well, at least let it continue now. This piano examination is already killing me. I'm setting all my assignments aside, for the weekend. Now, it's music, music, music.
*gag*
I thought I was so strong, but I'd just forgotten how terrible it is to feel that explosion happening again and again inside you and there is absolutely nothing you can do to make it stop. That happened like, what? Four years ago? I'm not sure even if this isn't the first time.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, weird.
Thinking, I'm so sorry. To a lot of people. For a lot of things.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Seek ye first the kingdom of God
God, love me.
For all the doubts I have, as long as I have one assurance, I will be fine.
I feel so alone sometimes, with all those thoughts stuck in my head and no one to share them with. Maybe that's why I'd never kept a diary. I'd written in one a few times, to rant and rave, but that's it. Anything else, I blog about. Anything else, I shorten, summarize, and post on Facebook. For me, if it ain't seen by someone other than me, it is not expressed. This isn't an opinion. This is how i react.
I'd been reading and rereading the DISC personalities book I borrowed from Sister Suk recently. Basically, D and C are task-orientated, I and S are people orientated. D and I are outgoing, I and S are reserved.
Guess which one I am?
A few things caught my eye about High-S personalities.
They're selfish. It's not that they care only about themselves, but being more of a sucker than anyone else, they tend to become too nice, too open, and end up getting burned. They're very indecisive. They don't want to offend or hurt anyone with their decisions. Instead of risking a wrong turn, they'd rather never turn and go straight all the way. They need security. They want to know the outcome of a journey before embarking on it. They need to know what's going to be around, and what's not. If not, they act like turtles and hide into their shells.
I like reading stuff about personalities, because frankly, I like reading the justifications and the explanations that come with it and from a source other than me. Explaining myself makes me feel defensive, which I don't like.
Is it a bad thing, to be defensive? My dad always acts like it is. I got fed up. I just shut up nowadays. Act like a turtle and hide. Maybe kick up a rude cloud of dust in his direction.
I am selfish, that I admit. It's not negative thinking. It's simply rational. I'm not sure, but maybe it's because, if I don't focus on myself, I'll have to focus on other people. There are so, so many people out there I can focus on. Which one do I focus on? How do I focus on them? Will they like being focused on? What if I think I'm taking care of them when I'm actually damaging them? I don't know everything about anyone.
The best person I know how to take care of is me.
So I end up doing just that, because I know for sure, for at least 99%, that if I ever offend myself or lead myself down the wrong path, I can forgive myself and not make a big fuss out of it. I know exactly what I'm thinking, so when I tell myself, it's okay, or I'm sorry, I know that I'm sincere.
So I dare to want the best for myself. Because I know what is best for me. And because I know that if I was wrong about what's best and make a mess, at least it'll only be me that's messed up because of it. And myself I can untangle.
Time heals. But only if you allow it. Being stuck with myself 24/7 I have an endless opportunity to understand myself, to talk to myself and think. I can untangle myself slowly, anywhere, anytime. But can I do that to another person besides me? The person I spend the most time with is...
Well, I don't know. My mum? Sister? And even they I can't untangle because I don't spend that much time with them. And even if I can, I can't be trying to untangle them all the time. I don't know how to.
Perhaps that's why people like being alone so much. It's only themselves that they have to be conscious about. They don't have to think about anyone else at the moment. They can focus on getting themselves straight first, instead of chewing off more than they can bite and trying to cheer other people up or entertain people. And probably do something wrong and end up worsening situations.
I like being physically alone. But however horrible I feel or however much I want to run away from anyone else, I know I don't want God to leave. If He leaves, I'm dead. I'm really, truly dead. No security, nothing to stand on, nothing to live for, no one to turn to.
That's pretty much a truism for a lot of Christians. No God, no nothing.
It's the acting it out part that I have trouble with. What does no God mean? Is there anything I can actually do to cause God to leave me?
Oh yes. But a lot of people have a lot of different opinions on that.
What does the bible say?
It depends on who you're asking that question to.
If I'm really a High-S (and I'm thinking, I am) then all these insecurities are the culprits. They are the ones driving me mad and making me go WHATEVER and throw everything out the window and start to laugh and giggle and seeing everything in a fun, happy light.
Thank God for God.
Occasionally I just forget about everything else, just push and kick them aside. I abandon my Isaac, tie him up, raise the dagger. Only God deserves all attention and glory and praise and thanksgiving.
Nevertheless, I don't do that all the time. That'll be wrong.
There's a difference between only Jesus matters, and Jesus matters the most.
Because only Jesus matters, everyone else matters. Jesus wants us to love everyone. Our neighbors as ourselves, and our brothers and sisters in Christ more than ourselves. Even if Jesus is the only one that matters, we'd still have to make other people matter, because Jesus said so. Otherwise, He wouldn't really matter to you.
"Why call you me Lord, Lord, when you do not obey my Father's commands?"
So Jesus matters the most. Other people matter as well.
11-06-2010, Friday. 9.40am
I wrote all that yesterday morning, but I couldn't post it because after I moved the laptop into the diner, the WiFi stopped working.
Everyone was running away from her, and even the few that were chained to her were walking slowly away. The chains were long enough to let them walk far enough for her to feel so alone.
And then she turned around to see Him.
"They'll come back, but even if they don't, am I enough for you?"
Yes.
Everything was okay.
She tugged at one of the chains. One of the people turned to look at her. It was still smiling.
Everything is okay.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, unsteady.
Thinking, Jesus, I want to put You first. Help me.
For all the doubts I have, as long as I have one assurance, I will be fine.
I feel so alone sometimes, with all those thoughts stuck in my head and no one to share them with. Maybe that's why I'd never kept a diary. I'd written in one a few times, to rant and rave, but that's it. Anything else, I blog about. Anything else, I shorten, summarize, and post on Facebook. For me, if it ain't seen by someone other than me, it is not expressed. This isn't an opinion. This is how i react.
I'd been reading and rereading the DISC personalities book I borrowed from Sister Suk recently. Basically, D and C are task-orientated, I and S are people orientated. D and I are outgoing, I and S are reserved.
Guess which one I am?
A few things caught my eye about High-S personalities.
They're selfish. It's not that they care only about themselves, but being more of a sucker than anyone else, they tend to become too nice, too open, and end up getting burned. They're very indecisive. They don't want to offend or hurt anyone with their decisions. Instead of risking a wrong turn, they'd rather never turn and go straight all the way. They need security. They want to know the outcome of a journey before embarking on it. They need to know what's going to be around, and what's not. If not, they act like turtles and hide into their shells.
I like reading stuff about personalities, because frankly, I like reading the justifications and the explanations that come with it and from a source other than me. Explaining myself makes me feel defensive, which I don't like.
Is it a bad thing, to be defensive? My dad always acts like it is. I got fed up. I just shut up nowadays. Act like a turtle and hide. Maybe kick up a rude cloud of dust in his direction.
I am selfish, that I admit. It's not negative thinking. It's simply rational. I'm not sure, but maybe it's because, if I don't focus on myself, I'll have to focus on other people. There are so, so many people out there I can focus on. Which one do I focus on? How do I focus on them? Will they like being focused on? What if I think I'm taking care of them when I'm actually damaging them? I don't know everything about anyone.
The best person I know how to take care of is me.
So I end up doing just that, because I know for sure, for at least 99%, that if I ever offend myself or lead myself down the wrong path, I can forgive myself and not make a big fuss out of it. I know exactly what I'm thinking, so when I tell myself, it's okay, or I'm sorry, I know that I'm sincere.
So I dare to want the best for myself. Because I know what is best for me. And because I know that if I was wrong about what's best and make a mess, at least it'll only be me that's messed up because of it. And myself I can untangle.
Time heals. But only if you allow it. Being stuck with myself 24/7 I have an endless opportunity to understand myself, to talk to myself and think. I can untangle myself slowly, anywhere, anytime. But can I do that to another person besides me? The person I spend the most time with is...
Well, I don't know. My mum? Sister? And even they I can't untangle because I don't spend that much time with them. And even if I can, I can't be trying to untangle them all the time. I don't know how to.
Perhaps that's why people like being alone so much. It's only themselves that they have to be conscious about. They don't have to think about anyone else at the moment. They can focus on getting themselves straight first, instead of chewing off more than they can bite and trying to cheer other people up or entertain people. And probably do something wrong and end up worsening situations.
I like being physically alone. But however horrible I feel or however much I want to run away from anyone else, I know I don't want God to leave. If He leaves, I'm dead. I'm really, truly dead. No security, nothing to stand on, nothing to live for, no one to turn to.
That's pretty much a truism for a lot of Christians. No God, no nothing.
It's the acting it out part that I have trouble with. What does no God mean? Is there anything I can actually do to cause God to leave me?
Oh yes. But a lot of people have a lot of different opinions on that.
What does the bible say?
It depends on who you're asking that question to.
If I'm really a High-S (and I'm thinking, I am) then all these insecurities are the culprits. They are the ones driving me mad and making me go WHATEVER and throw everything out the window and start to laugh and giggle and seeing everything in a fun, happy light.
Thank God for God.
Occasionally I just forget about everything else, just push and kick them aside. I abandon my Isaac, tie him up, raise the dagger. Only God deserves all attention and glory and praise and thanksgiving.
Nevertheless, I don't do that all the time. That'll be wrong.
There's a difference between only Jesus matters, and Jesus matters the most.
Because only Jesus matters, everyone else matters. Jesus wants us to love everyone. Our neighbors as ourselves, and our brothers and sisters in Christ more than ourselves. Even if Jesus is the only one that matters, we'd still have to make other people matter, because Jesus said so. Otherwise, He wouldn't really matter to you.
"Why call you me Lord, Lord, when you do not obey my Father's commands?"
So Jesus matters the most. Other people matter as well.
11-06-2010, Friday. 9.40am
I wrote all that yesterday morning, but I couldn't post it because after I moved the laptop into the diner, the WiFi stopped working.
Everyone was running away from her, and even the few that were chained to her were walking slowly away. The chains were long enough to let them walk far enough for her to feel so alone.
And then she turned around to see Him.
"They'll come back, but even if they don't, am I enough for you?"
Yes.
Everything was okay.
She tugged at one of the chains. One of the people turned to look at her. It was still smiling.
Everything is okay.
Signed, Carmelia.
Feeling, unsteady.
Thinking, Jesus, I want to put You first. Help me.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Problems
(i'd written this a long time ago. i can't remember why i didn't post it.)
I'd attended a leadership seminar by Chester Wright earlier this year. I'd expected workshops on leadership, how to lead, how to care for your followers, etc.
I got a whole bunch of lessons that seems irrelevant at first. (Of course, when you get an 'at first', you know there's a twist somewhere further down the line.)
One of those lessons was basically this:
Jesus never promised that if we follow Him, all our problems would be solved. Instead, we'll have the peace, the joy, the hope, to be able to endure all things.
And yet, it isn't wrong to say that Jesus did promise us that all our problems would be solved if we follow Him and bear His cross.
The meaning's the same, only different phrasings are used.
What is a problem?
I've come to realize that a real, true problem, is a situation that even God wants to change, and plans to, if only we let Him.
Most of the 'problems' I've encountered and are encountering, stayed and is staying, even after prayer.
I believe there's nothing barring my prayers from being heard from God (yes, this is possible) so He'd heard them. I believe that God loves me. I believe that God answers prayers.
So when He answers 'No' when I ask Him to help me take away a problem, I know, or maybe I let myself think, that this is another fire I have to go through.
Those aren't problems. They are to me, but to God they are simply trials. No use just taking trials away, especially not when He knows there's a lesson I need to learn or an experience I need to obtain.
Experiences are important. You never know when you need to draw on a particular experience to be able to learn a lesson properly.
Back on the subject. If our faith in God is extremely strong, then perhaps we will be able to see all the poop of life simply as trials. There are no problems. I won't be seeing something as a problem if it doesn't or will not be causing me strife or anger.
Someone's going to chop off my leg. Is that a problem? No. I'll lose a leg, but if losing a leg won't make me sad or angry or hurt or blah, then it's simply not a problem. (Nevertheless I think most of us really appreciate having both legs functioning properly so this is generally a big problem.)
Too bad (Or is it...?) not many, if any at all, of us have that kind of faith in God.
Carmelia has a tendency to not view something as a problem, and if she kinda double-visions something as a problem and yet is not, that's very probably because since it's going to be a problem for a loved one, which by itself is then a problem for Carmelia.
I'm not blowing any trumpets here, and especially not my own (Or am I?) I don't think my ability to forget about problems or view them lightly is because of how awesome and great and strong my faith in God is (It's NOT). Someone told me before that it has something to do with this defense mechanism I'd subconsciously built into my brain. Anything unhappy or unsettling, and it's PAP into the shredding machine, you mean little problem.
Unfortunately when you shred something, it doesn't disappear. It only becomes shredded into many, many pieces, which get mixed up with other many, many, many pieces of problems, which then all clutter up the place.
And when you realize, oh, there's a lesson there, somewhere...
Well, it's probably difficult enough to find a lesson on a piece of problem. To find a shredded lesson in the midst of gazillions shreds of pieces of problems?
ANYWAY (I digressed, now I have to scroll back up to remember what the skeleton of this post is)
Recently Jerry's ice cream fell off the cone and onto the carpet. Guess what I did? I laughed, and got a really angry, non-playful punch from dear brother.
I was writing a really good, really long chapter once, but because of some fault of the computer, nothing was saved. The frustration lasted as long as a snap of fingers, and I was happily thinking, hey, I'm improving my memory and writing skills by rewriting the whole thing again.
Coffee, family pet dearest, passed away. I didn't mind. Yeah, very cold of me. Some of my friends were (they seemed anyway) devastated. I was thinking, now I can get my bunnies, we don't have to risk getting bit, no more having to tie up the dog when we need to open the gate, no more noisy nights...
I crashed an Avanza with three family members in it. Though it was a trauma afterwards, the first few minutes after it happened? I was laughing quietly, thinking about how I have another good story to tell friends.
SICK. I can't type in anymore examples lest any readers here start to think I'm a cold-hearted psycho who laughs and is gleeful at anything and everything. I can't remember anymore anyway, I think the defense mechanism's working again.
I'm not, okay? I cry at stupid little things, things that aren't problems. Like that dog who had no hind-legs and was dragging itself happily over the road near the burnt-down Servay. Like Jimmy, the student who committed suicide.
But when faced with a problem or a disaster, and given time to think... I just...
I don't really know what I do. I do analyze myself a lot, but I just can't remember the outcome, and I can't be bothered to record them immediately before I forget (I don't want to have to get scolded by mum for blogging about every little thing.)
It rained extremely heavily last week. Somehow I got stuck at Centre Point. I wanted to roam the place, drift around a bit after the heavy-duty lifestyle at camp. Basically, the evening was an unusual one, as in, it wasn't as comfortable as my other evenings were. The pretty white slippers I had on easily slipped off when wet, being plastic, so I couldn't run across the slightly flooded road. I might accidentally leave a shoe on the road and try to get it back and get hit by a car. I was cold, I'd left my jacket over at church. Dad kept postponing coming to fetch me, because it was superbly jammed on the roads. Mum wasn't happy that I wasn't home immediately after camp. I had no appetite to eat, and I didn't want to use any money, but I ended up at SR for a piece of apple crumble, since it was the cheapest food item on the menu. Stanely was there, bless him. Someone else was around too, bless him. After that I finally forced myself to cross the road, limping so that the slippers won't slip off my feet, get to church, which was locked, sat on the stairs waiting for someone to come open the door...
That seems like a horrible evening for me. It didn't FEEL horrible, not now, not at the time, because I was just being myself, all happy and thankful for what I have and knowing that I don't have the right to complain, etc. But that, I think, counts as a bad evening.
Maybe I'm wrong, because maybe I'm a little princess whose worst experiences are like fairy cakes compared to other people's okay-lah experiences.
Maybe I'm right, and I have a lot more of these horrible experiences that I can't describe because I'd never thought of them as 'horrible' at all.
Nana just sent me a text saying she'd slipped in front of the boys (She's at Melaka) and it was embarrassing. Followed by an 'XD'
XD usually means GOSH! smilingly.
Hey, she has that upbeat attitude too.
Maybe all of us has.
So why do I sometimes have to hide my smile in the face of a disaster?... To avoid people thinking that I'm happy that something horrible has happened, I think.
I'm not happy that something horrible has happened... I'm just happy to know that I have a God, He will be there for me, I just have to surrender, and though I'll still have to fight and struggle, I can be assured He's around.
I'd attended a leadership seminar by Chester Wright earlier this year. I'd expected workshops on leadership, how to lead, how to care for your followers, etc.
I got a whole bunch of lessons that seems irrelevant at first. (Of course, when you get an 'at first', you know there's a twist somewhere further down the line.)
One of those lessons was basically this:
Jesus never promised that if we follow Him, all our problems would be solved. Instead, we'll have the peace, the joy, the hope, to be able to endure all things.
And yet, it isn't wrong to say that Jesus did promise us that all our problems would be solved if we follow Him and bear His cross.
The meaning's the same, only different phrasings are used.
What is a problem?
I've come to realize that a real, true problem, is a situation that even God wants to change, and plans to, if only we let Him.
Most of the 'problems' I've encountered and are encountering, stayed and is staying, even after prayer.
I believe there's nothing barring my prayers from being heard from God (yes, this is possible) so He'd heard them. I believe that God loves me. I believe that God answers prayers.
So when He answers 'No' when I ask Him to help me take away a problem, I know, or maybe I let myself think, that this is another fire I have to go through.
Those aren't problems. They are to me, but to God they are simply trials. No use just taking trials away, especially not when He knows there's a lesson I need to learn or an experience I need to obtain.
Experiences are important. You never know when you need to draw on a particular experience to be able to learn a lesson properly.
Back on the subject. If our faith in God is extremely strong, then perhaps we will be able to see all the poop of life simply as trials. There are no problems. I won't be seeing something as a problem if it doesn't or will not be causing me strife or anger.
Someone's going to chop off my leg. Is that a problem? No. I'll lose a leg, but if losing a leg won't make me sad or angry or hurt or blah, then it's simply not a problem. (Nevertheless I think most of us really appreciate having both legs functioning properly so this is generally a big problem.)
Too bad (Or is it...?) not many, if any at all, of us have that kind of faith in God.
Carmelia has a tendency to not view something as a problem, and if she kinda double-visions something as a problem and yet is not, that's very probably because since it's going to be a problem for a loved one, which by itself is then a problem for Carmelia.
I'm not blowing any trumpets here, and especially not my own (Or am I?) I don't think my ability to forget about problems or view them lightly is because of how awesome and great and strong my faith in God is (It's NOT). Someone told me before that it has something to do with this defense mechanism I'd subconsciously built into my brain. Anything unhappy or unsettling, and it's PAP into the shredding machine, you mean little problem.
Unfortunately when you shred something, it doesn't disappear. It only becomes shredded into many, many pieces, which get mixed up with other many, many, many pieces of problems, which then all clutter up the place.
And when you realize, oh, there's a lesson there, somewhere...
Well, it's probably difficult enough to find a lesson on a piece of problem. To find a shredded lesson in the midst of gazillions shreds of pieces of problems?
ANYWAY (I digressed, now I have to scroll back up to remember what the skeleton of this post is)
Recently Jerry's ice cream fell off the cone and onto the carpet. Guess what I did? I laughed, and got a really angry, non-playful punch from dear brother.
I was writing a really good, really long chapter once, but because of some fault of the computer, nothing was saved. The frustration lasted as long as a snap of fingers, and I was happily thinking, hey, I'm improving my memory and writing skills by rewriting the whole thing again.
Coffee, family pet dearest, passed away. I didn't mind. Yeah, very cold of me. Some of my friends were (they seemed anyway) devastated. I was thinking, now I can get my bunnies, we don't have to risk getting bit, no more having to tie up the dog when we need to open the gate, no more noisy nights...
I crashed an Avanza with three family members in it. Though it was a trauma afterwards, the first few minutes after it happened? I was laughing quietly, thinking about how I have another good story to tell friends.
SICK. I can't type in anymore examples lest any readers here start to think I'm a cold-hearted psycho who laughs and is gleeful at anything and everything. I can't remember anymore anyway, I think the defense mechanism's working again.
I'm not, okay? I cry at stupid little things, things that aren't problems. Like that dog who had no hind-legs and was dragging itself happily over the road near the burnt-down Servay. Like Jimmy, the student who committed suicide.
But when faced with a problem or a disaster, and given time to think... I just...
I don't really know what I do. I do analyze myself a lot, but I just can't remember the outcome, and I can't be bothered to record them immediately before I forget (I don't want to have to get scolded by mum for blogging about every little thing.)
It rained extremely heavily last week. Somehow I got stuck at Centre Point. I wanted to roam the place, drift around a bit after the heavy-duty lifestyle at camp. Basically, the evening was an unusual one, as in, it wasn't as comfortable as my other evenings were. The pretty white slippers I had on easily slipped off when wet, being plastic, so I couldn't run across the slightly flooded road. I might accidentally leave a shoe on the road and try to get it back and get hit by a car. I was cold, I'd left my jacket over at church. Dad kept postponing coming to fetch me, because it was superbly jammed on the roads. Mum wasn't happy that I wasn't home immediately after camp. I had no appetite to eat, and I didn't want to use any money, but I ended up at SR for a piece of apple crumble, since it was the cheapest food item on the menu. Stanely was there, bless him. Someone else was around too, bless him. After that I finally forced myself to cross the road, limping so that the slippers won't slip off my feet, get to church, which was locked, sat on the stairs waiting for someone to come open the door...
That seems like a horrible evening for me. It didn't FEEL horrible, not now, not at the time, because I was just being myself, all happy and thankful for what I have and knowing that I don't have the right to complain, etc. But that, I think, counts as a bad evening.
Maybe I'm wrong, because maybe I'm a little princess whose worst experiences are like fairy cakes compared to other people's okay-lah experiences.
Maybe I'm right, and I have a lot more of these horrible experiences that I can't describe because I'd never thought of them as 'horrible' at all.
Nana just sent me a text saying she'd slipped in front of the boys (She's at Melaka) and it was embarrassing. Followed by an 'XD'
XD usually means GOSH! smilingly.
Hey, she has that upbeat attitude too.
Maybe all of us has.
So why do I sometimes have to hide my smile in the face of a disaster?... To avoid people thinking that I'm happy that something horrible has happened, I think.
I'm not happy that something horrible has happened... I'm just happy to know that I have a God, He will be there for me, I just have to surrender, and though I'll still have to fight and struggle, I can be assured He's around.
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