Please..

chat with me, I'm in mighty need of a companion to chat with.

The fork in the road.

It is eventual and inevitable and there are many that one has to face throughout one's life. Some aren't that big of a deal and one or two bad judgement calls in these wouldn't do one that much harm. However, there are also those that determine one's future and the choices that are laid before him or her are often mutually exclusive - choosing one path denies the others, such is the brutality of life.

But.

Is there such a thing as a mistake in making these choices? They are, in the end, just choices. Yes, it's true that some choices will bring one to his or her knees, regretting ever making that choice in the first place. I don't think one should classify the choices made to be either a right or wrong choice by just the outcome of the choice, rather, it should be classified base on how the decision to choose that path was made. Whether or not all the other choices were given enough consideration should be factored in. Mistakes, like getting bruises, will occur. There are ways to live life safely but that's a tad boring way to live I'd say, where's the adventure in that, right? I guess this is where cliche lines like "failure is the the turning point towards success" or "If at first you don't success, try and try again" but it is true, isn't it? We learn a lot more from the failures we've made rather than the successes we've achieved, provided, of course, we realise the mistake and actually attempt to learn from it.

I think this post has derail from it's original purpose. but. oh. what. the. hell.

I wanna write more but the damn keyboard is preventing me from doing it. I have to smack the key for the letter O before it appears - forcing me stop and fill in the missing Os. This is seriously disrupting my chain of thoughts. Humph.

In the last few posts and this post included, I blog because I simply wanted to write something and not because I have something that I wanna rant or tell. I start off with a general idea about something and I simply type. So, more often than not, my posts are pretty random and sometimes, they don't make sense to other people (really?). I do hope you, yes you, dear reader can follow my train of thoughts (if there is one, that is).

rant rant rant!

I've decided.

I shall shed off some of the stereotypes that I subconsciously apply to myself. It bugs me. I find it to be very constrictive and stifling. I'm still young even though my age starts with the digit 2. I want to have choices to what I wanna be. I want to do something that is beyond my ordinary routine or out of the usual me (of course, within my own boundary of morality). Liberalising myself from self-stereotyping should do me good (I hope). I wonder why did I even do it in the first place? Was it the ever-so-cliche peer pressure or is it the similarly overused reason of mass media? However, in this case, it doesn't matter what compelled me to act with such naivete since I'm the one who did it in the end.

On another note, my brain is so cluttered now. Pre-exam period I guess. Seriously, it's so noisy. Good thing I have this blog to ramble but somehow, I think it kinda backfire because last night, I only managed to get 3 hours of sleep before waking up in panic. Plus, it was soooo hard for me to sleep. I guess my brain has the ability to induce its own caffeine which works infinitely better than Nescafe. Back to what I'm suppose to be doing - study.

Chiow

I'm not suppose to be here

Shhh, I'm suppose to be studying but then again, the proportion of my time that I took to tell that I am, suppose to or want to study is definitely much larger than the proportion of my time that I took to actually study. Why am I here? I'm not really sure. After all, most of my posts have more words than purpose. Why? It is just the nature of who I am. A bum who supposedly try to blog but desperately in need of matter. Does it matter? Heck no, I'm the owner/writer/creator of this blog so I can do whatever I want to. Besides, the fact that you are actually reading this post, despite knowing by now, that it does not have any purpose, direction, points or matter proves that you are reading this post purely because I wrote it. After all, I'm just a wad of wet tissue on the ceiling that some find interesting. This post's seemingly non-important existence is purely to entertain my loyal reader(s) whom has/have nothing better to do. In fact, I would say the usage of the word 'entertain' in the previous sentence is exceedingly pretentious and exaggerated in terms of expressing the purpose of this post. Honestly, I would say the word 'occupy your head with more nonsense' is spot on. However, if you really are here for the aforementioned reason, I severely question your ability to fill that squishy blob of pink matter that you call brain with information that has no base, logic nor point. Is it not your onus to do just that on your own without resorting to come here? Does it not make you wonder what you have reduced yourself to just by reading this post? Have you recently start questioning the authenticity of your sanity because if you haven't, I'm already doing it for you?

Did you really read all of that?

Oh, stop worrying.

I've been getting quite a few responses about the post before this. Let me make myself clear, being an introvert does not equate to being emo and by no means a reason to raise alarming concern. I do appreciate that you approached me about that post but really, I'm fine. Speaking of introvert, I recently a post concerning myths surrounding introverts in general and I find most of it to be rather applicable to me. Now, allow me to point out the things that the post talks about that I can say the same thing about myself:

Introverts don't like to talk

If you don't know about me and never seen me when I'm with my close friend, then it's safe to assume you would probably deduce the same conjecture. Truth be told, I'm quiet most of the time but to assume I dislike talking would be equivalent to accusing someone who doesn't eat much to be an anorexic or saying those who likes to read books are masters of nerds. The reason why I don't talk much is because I really rather keep to myself than engaging in conversation that I personally find to be rather dry or pertaining to topic which is not of my interest. For those who have seen me being talkative, you know I wouldn't stop until I'm out of things to say.

Introverts don't like people

Nah, I just don't really go along with certain people that I can't really relate to. Au contraire, I value my close friends a lot. Though I'm pretty sure I can count those people. However, it is not about the quantity but the quality and I can say with exact certainty that I have fine fine close friends.

Introverts don't like to go out in public

So not true. I like being outside but the thing that trouble me the most is crowded area. It disturbs me a lot sometimes that I get dizzy. That's why if I'm out shopping alone, I'll definitely finish fast and avoid places with a lot of people. You can say I'm a fast and efficient shopper, unlike girls in general. *evil laugh*

Introverts always want to be alone

There's a fine line between an introvert and an emo. For one, I don't wear eye shadow and two, I don't have any piercing. Plus, I'm authentic. Point being, I do not want to always be alone. Yes, I find being in solitude to be peaceful. Yes, I'm fine with just me and my thoughts. Yes, I used to talk with myself when I was a kid. However, that does not mean I want to be in constant shroud of loneliness. As fun as my thoughts are, being alone still does void me of human contacts which, surprisingly, something I yearn more and more as I get older (a good sign, I guess).

Introverts are weird

Say what? I believe the correct term for most of us is unique or individualistic. Despite being corrupted by the media stream via television, radio, internet and whatever other means there are, I find being in a stereotype to be really stifling and downright boring. I have my own set of "glasses" that filters what I see. Am I saying I'm a self-proclaim interesting guy, no. I'm just another cup of tea. It's up to you whether you find me to your liking. If it isn't, well, really, it's your lost, isn't it?

Sheesh, I wanna write more but I'm compelled to stop by my anchor of laziness. Besides, I'm suppose to be studying for my exam. Anyways, to all you introverts out there, hi.

edit: I starting to hate this layout, it makes the font looks crappy. I'm such a hopelessly minimalistic person.

Predict not of it's dismay

I feel my social life is imploding. My introvert self is resurfacing again.

Random musing

The story below is meant for kids.

There was once a story about a boy who lived in family that valued cleanliness and spruceness above other things in their life. The family was so zealous about being clean that they purchase ridiculous amount of bar soap on a weekly basis. They were so worried of being dirty that they wash clothes so often that the boy's white shirt shines. The parents were so ardent in being tidy, the mother ironed and starched his boy's clothings so vigorously, that the boy's shirts were solid and never once people saw a wrinkle. The father was so enthusiastic about being clean that he was nicknamed "General White". Like all things in life (this is getting cliche), doing something excessively is never good. Predictably, the boy was ostracized by his friends. The boy's clothes were so clean and sparkling, they hurt people's eyes. He was sad, he was unhappy.

One day, the parents went off for a trip in another state and left the boy alone. The parents naturally supplied him with every type of products for hygienic and cleanliness purpose imaginable - mountainous bars of soap, stocks of cleaning powder that would last him for years, enough starch to feed the whole neighbourhood and enough toothpaste to turn any elephant white. When his parents left, he felt an overwhelming feeling of liberation. For once, he felt the gargantuous responsibility to keep himself constantly clean taken off from his shoulders.

For a whole week, he did not bathe, he did not wash his clothes nor did he brush his teeth. He played in the mud and slept with enough dirt behind his ears to plant a flower. When his parents returned, they were shocked to see the condition of their only son..

I can't remember the story from then on but it ended with the boy growing fruits from his body becuase he was so dirty. The parents learnt to accept him in the end. As to whether it ended the way I said it, I'm not sure.. but that's not the point as to why I'm writing this story.

I find this story fascinating, not because of the story but because of what the children might learn from it. I thought about it for a while and concluded that there are 3 possibilities of what might the children get from this story:

1: Being who you are is important regardless of who your parents are and their idiosyncrasies. This value seems very westernize, if you ask me, but what the heck.

2. Being dirty is ok as long as you can grow fruits from your armpits and behind your ears.

3. I... can't remember.

Oh well, guess that's all for now.