My inner voice.

I was doing the graveyard shift yesterday night protecting other country’s ships.

Say, you made a friend, one who wields power. You vow to protect him. He promises you many benefits. Likewise, it’s the same with us. Part of, as they say, diplomatic relations. Protecting a powerful country’s warship grants our own country many benefits in many areas.

In three hours, I cleared less than ten vehicles. Who in their right mind would deprive themselves of crucial sleep anyway? Not even foreigners who chose to spend time getting drunk. Clearing half awake foreigners, part of my service to the nation.

Most of my three hours was spent staring into the never ending straight road ahead, one lighted by the warm glow of orange streetlamps. There are people who think this kind of job is good. Yes, it was good for me. The three hours was time well spent. I entertained my mind, pondering deeply into issues that affect me much. I didn’t need to get drunk to satisfy myself. And I will share one of those issues here in this journal entry – my inner voice.

In the experiencing of every moment, we stimulate our senses. However, i believe that different people stimulate each of their senses all to varying extents. And this is only possible because not everyone have the same kind of upbringing, not everyone have the same kind of experiences. Some people’s lives intertwined with others. This can have an impact on them for life. And some experiences just change people completely. Sometimes, it is not even their own doing to begin with. There are people who, as compared to others, rely less on what they see and more on their what they hear.

As for me, I rely most on what I hear – inside of me. My inner voice, that is.

I have come to realize that how my inner voice controls me determines a significant part of who i am and what i do. The thoughts that go through my head is amplified by this inner voice. The inner voice speaks to me, commands me at other times, and advices me. Sometimes my inner voice reflects thoughts and feelings largely influenced by the environment i am in or with the people i mix with. Sometimes my inner voice keeps itself silent in my own private moments of ecstasy. Perhaps in these moments an equally ecstatic voice takes it’s place. Still, the inner voice determines most of what i think, including the thinking and writing of this post.

Realizing this, it becomes instinctive that I can change who I am simply by how I think. I can improve on who I am through the inspiration of my inner voice.

But it is detrimental to over control it. I have my fair share of panic attacks which can recur anytime and I am most vulnerable in these moments. Most of the time, no one can understand how much this affects me. They just think its another of those anxiety-disorder-you-just-need-to-calm-down kind of thing. They do know how to say it simply. It is harder to put comfort in the saying of it.

I learnt how to rely on myself to solve my own problems when I find others don’t take me too seriously for it. They think it can be solve by consuming tablets, go on inhaler and all. They think it can just disappear and you’ll be fine the next day.

Then I realize their opinions don’t really matter. I know for myself how going through these episodes hurt. It affect me till today.

There is hope for a permanent cure though. But no, not in some magical tablet that doctors claim to prescribe and oh-you’ll-be-okay-after-finishing-your-dosage. Even though our medical industry has become somewhat overly commercialized, I trust when doctors say I have to take a certain dosage of medication. After all, I believe they are much more knowledgeable in the theories and specifics of medical science, considering they are armed with information accumulated over years of study, something that I do not have.

Yet, I am not entirely sure if I want to be cured of it.

There are the times when I become anxious. But I know its because I care about what happens.

There are the times when I rush what I say. But that’s because I believe in the power and ability of ideas over the way or manner it should be said.

There are times when I withdraw into myself. But that’s because I hate to be patronized. I hope people takes me seriously for who I am and the problems I face.

I learn to rely on my inner voice over time. Having knowledge of how my inner voice works and controls my life makes a huge difference to how i live each day of my life. A life I treasure. A life that’s precious.

“Something To Believe In” (Aqualung)

You talk too much.
Maybe that’s your way of breaking up the silence,
that fills you up.
But it doesn’t sound the same
When no one’s really listening

We stumble into our lives –
Reach for a hand to hold.
And any wonder
We need to find a certain something, certain.

Turn out the light
And what are you left with?
Open up my hands
And find out they’re empty.
Press my face to the ground
I’ve gotta find a reason.
Just scratching around
For something to believe in.
Something to believe in.

You have too much.
You’re spending all your time
Collecting and discovering
It’s not enough.
And no matter how you try,
You never find the one you want.

Strange and beautiful (Aqualung)

I’ve been watching your world from afar.
I’ve been trying to be where you are.
And I’ve been secretly falling apart,
I’ll see.

To me, you’re strange and you’re beautiful.
You’d be so perfect with me but you just can’t see,
you turn every head but you don’t see me.

I’ll put a spell on you, you’ll fall asleep.
And I’ll put a spell on you.
And when I wake you, I’ll be the first thing you see.
And you’ll realize that you love me.

Sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first.
Sometimes, the first thing you want never comes.
And I know, the waiting is all you can do,
Sometimes…

I’ll put a spell on you, you’ll fall asleep.
And I’ll put a spell on you.
And when I wake you, I’ll be the first thing you see.
And you’ll realise that you love me.

Today, I accomplished nothing.

For a change, I shall write about today.

It was meant to be a symbolic occasion, one where everyone feels a sense of pride knowing that they had survived doing what they did over the past eleven weeks. I didn’t come out of the auditorium beaming or smiling like the rest though. I only did so when pictures were requested to be taken. Don’t get me wrong. I do not mean to say the past eleven weeks were terrible on me. It was not. And I do not mean to imply that I lacked a sense of pride for all that we had been through.

The calling for what we do remains the same – in service to defending what’s ours. The difference lies in the nature of what we are doing. Others train for a year to get their one bar of awesomeness. Many more go through even tougher training than us, sweating it out in the fields, preparing to be activated at any time should our country actually go to war.

As for us, we are already a part of a war. A war that knows no nations, a war that can involve anyone of any race or religion. It is a war against the underground, a force that can strike anytime.

I play a part in performing real time operations for my country.

We protect what protects our seas.

We do this together with other soldiers who guard our oil refineries, army camps, air bases & the airport.

Our passing out ceremony could have captured the significance of the role we played. It could have. But I felt that it didn’t. There were rehearsals after rehearsals held over two days to prepare each of us for our one minute of time on stage. But after each rehearsal, our course commander had something to say about the way we appeared on stage (marching and all). It dwelled on the same kind of problems; problems that we never really got it right even till the last rehearsal. We had the idea of executing our military moves on stage. Our problems lie in that we didn’t pay close attention to the precision of those moves.

Having multiple rehearsals was okay. At least for me, it did help in familiarizing a poor, clueless soldier in sanitizing his mistakes towards complete, almost perfect uniformity. But in the process of doing so, it dampened my mood towards the whole idea of passing out. The epicness I thought I would feel…I never did. It didn’t help when my fellow soldiers and leaders seemed nonchalant towards an epitome of military training.

I was just giving myself some pause for thought. Try to picture an auditorium. Any kind of auditorium. It can be the one you had been in at school, that’s realistic enough. Try to picture bored soldiers slouching on the front chairs of this auditorium (some already fallen asleep) as club music, played to keep us awake, blared through the speakers.

Now, imagine that a superior suddenly commanded us to start rehearsing. Club music stops. Soldiers awake from their slumber. And we had to march up on stage, shake the mock guest of honor’s hand (somewhat rigidly), get screwed for f-king around before falling out.

You see, having a stage in an auditorium allows people to perform in front of others in a way for them to see, her and judge. Instead, they have revolutionized this idea by telling us what to do for something that is our own passing out. They told us you had to do everything in a certain way, for example, to march (this involved a five step procedure we had to internalize) and receive your certificate (with no manners of self expression). Nothing is the effort of our ideas to begin with. Then, you keep on correcting us for our own originality in what you think are our mistakes.

It was supposed to be a proud moment. It seemed like it was to families. Yes, there were the picture perfect moments (at the parade square at the edge of the sea) But going through it, I hardly felt at ease with myself. What we went through was a military ceremony evolved to become a lame, dumped down version of any school’s college day.

What topped that off? A reception after the ceremony was over. Strangely familiar? Definitely. And I metamorphosised into this socially awkward penguin. I had very brief touch-and-go conversations even to people whom I could connect to, people whom I consider myself closer to.

Sometimes, I wonder why we choose to perfect every single detail except for the FEEL of the occasion itself. We try to get every nook and cranny correct and when we don’t, we find something or someone to blame. We never realize that in doing so, we do waste precious time. And when people realize how they hate being controlled (to the extent of perfecting what seems redundant and irrelevant), they rebel. One did so openly, creating a big hoo-hah that was settled based on seniority of rank (so yes, he lost) whilst the majority rebel subtly simply by becoming indifferent.

I am just one of the many.

If the intent of having a passing out ceremony was to cater to our evolving need for modernity, then I am rather disappointed. Do we really need to be in an air-conditioned environment for our civilian guests to feel satisfied? And pay attention to what’s happening? From what I see, the air-con had put my father to sleep for some parts of the ceremony. Not his fault, he’s tired out from work. And do we really need to inflate each of our ego by presenting us a printed certificate? True, it’s a good way to say we had completed our training phase. But come on! Army’s not supposed to be like school. Okay, maybe its quite a bit like school, though army’s more stricter. And it’s not like we hadn’t had enough chasing certificates over the past 12 years.

Certificates somehow make me feel accomplished, strangely, especially since it’s only just a piece of paper with societal value.

What if all girls were pretty? (Part III)

A good part of my attention span recognizes pretty girls. You do not need to talk to or hear her voice to know she’s pretty. You just know with your eyes that she’s physically attractive. By her height and built and perhaps the way she presents herself, in a blink of an eye – maybe even less a second! you have made this decision of liking her for how she looks.

In a flash of an instant, we can decide what we want to see. A toddler. A girl. An adult. A grandmother.

Then, we judge them by how they look. A cute toddler. A pretty girl. A stressed adult. A wrinkled grandmother.

And then conclude who they seem to be. Facebook magnifies this experience online.

But what if all the girls in the world looked pretty?

Would every guy feel satisfied?

In there, we talk about girls. It is a hot topic of conversation. In matters like this, my attention would heighten, following the conversation intently. I can’t help it. Girls, or talking about them, are interesting. I was intrigued when a guy commented how he was attracted to this girl’s physical looks and all. You could  pretty much say she was a knockout. Pretty face, sexy body, shapely legs, slightly tanned. He met her, or girls like her, more than once at a club. And partying near them seemed to arouse much of his attention.

But he was immediately repulsed by her when she spoke.

Noticing a pretty girl like her standing at, say, a bus stop, chances are, I wouldn’t make an attempt to strike a conversation given that it could feel socially awkward. I would just, well, notice her, let my attention drift to something else, maybe notice her again, see if my bus is coming, notice her again, think about what I need to do when I get to my next destination, notice her again, see that my bus is coming, board the bus, notice her again.

Say there was some magical bus stop filled with all kinds of pretty girls. Would I notice her the same way as I had if she were alone?

I watch music videos often. All sorts of music videos. I do not only limit myself to my favorites (Muse, Boyce Avenue, New Age Instrumentals, Eminem) I do watch music videos of music gone mainstream. Top Of The World by The Cataracs is one example. Nobody likes to openly talk about such stuff. Yes, the music video can easily become pornography, one with sexually provocative moves performed to an irresistible auto tuned voice. I guess they remain clothed because society hates to see unclothed women in music videos (to the point of removing it online on popular video streaming websites) But perhaps, the individual secretly desires that though.

My personal opinion? All the girls in the music video looked pretty, like duh. But they arouse my attention as a whole, no one in particular captured my attention.

Girls I am attracted to and why. (Part II)

There’s something about a melancholic voice that draws you in, especially when a guitar strums chords to it. To Be Alone With You by Sufjan Stevens is one of those songs. A song where melancholy brings out its meaning.

 

In the blink of an eye, a feeling of warmth envelopes from within.

There are the moments when that girl captures your attention. The attention of what you see of her. At other times, her voice captivates your attention. In the blink of an eye, you know you like what you see. In the eloquence of her speech, you know you want to hear more from her.

In the majority of instances, this is true. It is a human instinct to become naturally attracted to the physical appearance of a girl, even though i feel that society does play a huge role in the construction of what seems attractive.

I find it hard to describe what kind of girl i like. I find it even harder to explain why i like certain kinds of girls.

You know what, I feel like I am describing girls as if they were objects that could be picked from a supermarket or admired in a museum. It does not feel natural. At least to me it is. I think that is why I find dificulty in describing and explaining.

Once, I was attracted to a bubbly girl. In expressing herself, she had this sense of energy, within. I think she was a little tomboyish to begin with. But to me that didn’t matter. She seemed to have a certain zest for her friends and purpose in what she does. She had beliefs, even if it was for what she was studying. There was something about her and the sport she played that made me reconsider what i once thought was ugly to me.

Perhaps it was the energy in her when she played what she loved for the people whom she share her memories with, her family and her friends. I had a bad time growing up with this sport that most guys play, but she turned the tables of perception on me. I guess one of the things i really admired about her was her confidence.

Maybe it started from some game we played to get to know each other. This game involved writing and i wrote to her. Not that i intended to, but it was to her that the game needed me to write to. I wrote what i thought in the way i wanted to.

It was very early in the year when i began to know more about her. But things never went the way fairy tales usually end.

Coming to think of it, I would say she was more cute than pretty.

extract from Chasing Pavements (Adele)

I’d build myself up,
and fly around in circles
Wait then as my heart drops
And my back begins to tingle
Finally could this be it

Should I give up
Or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere

extract from Not Afraid (Eminem)

I think I got a tear in my eye, I feel like the king of
my world, haters can make like bees with no stingers
and drop dead, no more beef flingers
No more drama from now on, I promise
to focus solely on handlin my responsibilities as a father
So I solemnly swear to always treat this roof, like my daughters
and raise it, you couldn’t lift a single shingle on it!
Cause the way I feel, I’m strong enough to go to the club
or the corner pub, and lift the whole liquor counter up
Cause I’m raising the bar
I’d shoot for the moon but I’m too busy gazin at stars
I feel amazing and I’m

I’m not afraid (I’m not afraid)
To take a stand (to take a stand)
Everybody (everybody)
Come take my hand (come take my hand)
We’ll walk this road together, through the storm
Whatever weather, cold or warm
Just lettin you know that, you’re not alone
Holla if you feel like you’ve been down the same road (same road)

Girls guys are attracted to and why. (Part I)

In a place where there are no girls, the conversations guys have among themselves have no boundaries. Amongst top of the list are of random everyday occurrences, events and peculiar habits of our fellow soldiers. Next to that, I would say are comments we guys have about girls. If you could imagine a list of possibilities of what guys could possibly talk about girls, you would be right to conclude that a girl’s physical appearance and first impressions are amongst the hottest topics. (Another hot topic: hear-says about her. Yea.)

I have been wondering for quite some time why is it that when we guys talk about girls, it’s almost always about how she looks, what she’s like, who are her friends etc. It is interesting how you can find loads of theories online explaining the behaviors of humans towards their opposite genders. Some are backed by scientific data in their respective field of research, others are substantiated by their own opinions. But here, I attempt to give my own thoughts to this very intriguing topic which I feel has been underrated in my journal entries.

The plus point about being in there, serving a year and ten months of your life to your country, is that you get to meet people from all walks of life. Everyone is different. And everyone has a different personality. What i noticed is that more often than not, the guys who create an impact on others are those who watch how they speak rather than what they actually have to say. In the written form, what they said would have looked ordinary amongst a mess of other words but because of the way they had chosen to express themselves, they formed an impression that they were eloquent, funny or friendly. You see, we often think that when people speak, we listen to what they have to say and from there, we respond accordingly. If it were that simple, then why is it that some people with the most brilliant of ideas are shunned just because of the way they are? I have a friend whom almost everyone chose to focus on making fun on his accent RATHER than what he could have shared with everyone. Anyway, did I drift off topic by mentioning all these? Nah. I just wanted to illustrate a point:

People often judge you more by how you say what you say

than what you actually have to say.

And often, a guy judges a girl by her eloquence in speech,

though the same guy could easily be turned off by her naggings.

Some girls are well blessed in their genes and upbringing. Perhaps they had (hahah i’m gonna play the typical stereotype here) a tall, dark and handsome guy as the father and the tall but not as tall as the guy, skinny but not too skinny and pretty but still not look fake at all girl as the mother. You see! Just by trying to describe the “perfect looking” girl herself, I had to put in so many conditions! Did all of that come across the minds of you guys and girls as you judge a girl’s appearance? Yea, it probably did either consciously (i like her face but you know what, her hips are a little too wide. Her legs are a little too fat) or subconsciously (YOU TALK TO THE PRETTY GIRL OVER THAT OTHER GIRL)

• who could actually be your friend for who you are
• for what you do
• and what you think
• for what you say
• and what’s on your mind
• everyday
• in every moment
• perhaps now
• perhaps forever.

I am so guilty of this ):

I think the cause of it all boils down to how norms in our society affect how we perceive who should be our friends.

Heard of the saying: To die with dignity? My feel is that every soul, guy or girl, wants to live with dignity. People need to be respected. And they desire the nurturing of their own ego.

Society judges a person by how well it has done in it. How well it has done is determined by the common rules. To name some of the common few: What’s your status. How rich you are.

For girls, I feel there’s one more criteria to consider: How well you look.

I shall end off the first part of these series of journal entries with two famous actors. They are who I think a majority of pretty girls, in my opinion, actually somewhat resemble:

If you prefer a hot, tanned pretty girl, there’s Megan Fox.

But if you would rather a fair, sweet pretty girl, there’s Emma Watson.

Or if you are like me, and perhaps most people,

I simply can’t choose!

Both are pretty, in my opinion.

In Part II, I will dwelve a little deeper. I will include insights of my own experiences, attempting to explain why I am attracted to some girls over others. I will justify why even though some pretty girls arouse my attention, who they are and how they look are just ain’t enough to keep that attention going. And also why other girls, who may not seem as pretty, have a lasting impact on me.

I will also try to understand why people fall in love, and why I had fallen in love too.

Before hell starts (supposedly)

How do you love what must be hated?

In my bunk, I have met people who live the values preached by our dear armed forces. They are the ones who try their best to align what they do and believe in with what is preached. I respect them. Their fathers have served this organization for much of our country’s developing years. I can sense the pride in which they take when they do what they are supposed to do. I can see that they do it, not because someone else is going to check on them, but for themselves.

I am like most other people, however. I live by the unsaid eight core value: Do but don’t get caught. Unfortunate or not, you decide. I am here to write about who I am. I find it hard to motivate myself to take initiative and do the things that they ask. Our leaders are only one year our senior. And even though there is a connection between them and us, I still find it hard to talk to them (as friends). We do have fun, regardless of whether it’s laughing at an inside joke or of something peculiar that happened. Other than that, we maintain our own separate distance.

These leaders had took us for the past eight weeks. And it’s not even the end yet. Although our social gathering tomorrow marks the end of the course, we still have to serve another three weeks of training on the job. Counting the past six weeks (which i described was the best time of my life in there), I would have been learning for 4 plus months. Counting the first nine weeks of my life in there, transiting from civilian to soldiers, I would have serve slightly more than a quarter of my service to the nation.

Until now, I still have not truly found my calling. My passion remains unignited. But there were instances in which I was close to reaching this state of discovering it. Ever since I was posted to the navy in June, I had come to fall in love with the place I had to call home for 5 out of 7 days in a week. We live in a ulu part of Singapore. And when I mean ulu, I do not mean living in surroundings with jungle and all out of reach from civilization. That’s impossible anyway, not in this time and era here in Singapore (therefore ulu should be removed from our local use of language, but anyway…) It is ulu simply because we are located at the most eastern tip of Singapore. From our camp to the first hint of modern civilization (Changi Airport runway), it takes about a 10 minute drive. If my father drives his mini tut-tut, we can reach Toa Payoh Central from where we live in Bishan. I do not find this a hassle though. In fact, I love traveling that stretch of road simply because on both sides, you could view a scenery almost extinct. From the windows of our bunk, we are treated to an astounding view of naval ships, observation towers, jetties, piers as well as Batam, Indonesia in the distant. The best part is being near the window because that is where we can feel the sea breeze.

My favorite place is not being by the window though. Cause that’s still being in the bunk, often with at least five people at one time. They are often having their own conversations which I join in sometimes, but not every time. Don’t get me wrong. I like talking with people about people and of things that happen. I am not a totally anti-social being, engrossed in my own world. I need to communicate, it is something that is basic and human. But I cannot find myself talking about such things for too long, for either my mind would drift away from what is being discussed, or that these conversations have reached a point that don’t particularly capture my interest anymore.

Where I often go to is a small place, a square approximately 1.25m by 1.25m. This place is actually a balcony that has a 270 degrees view of the sea and the parade square. Here, I can be alone with my own thoughts. Here, I can enjoy the sea breeze and connect with what I see. What I see, I think it is beautiful.

It is not just the pattern of the clouds and how the sun hides behind it, although this is also quite beautiful especially during sunrise and sunset. It is not just the scenery of ships and things in the navy that are particularly interesting to me. It is not just the aeroplanes that zips past the night sky filled with stars. There is no light pollution at our naval base anyway. Nor is it just the faint view of our city skyline in the background. And yes, because of an unobstructed view, we can see it from where we live at the eastern tip of Singapore.

It is a combination of all that I see and feel (the breeze). And the sounds that I choose to hear (either from my mp3 or just the natural lapping of waves against the breakwater) affects what I think in each moment. And every moment, (what I see, how I feel, what I think) is amazing. I connect with this special place. And people who have shared these special moments with me, they share a special bond that I, too, feel. Sometimes their reflections of the moments are matter-of-factly, at other times, we have lengthy conversations lasting a whole night before lights out.

I will miss this place. For today, we shifted to our new home, somewhere more inland. Though cosier, it is stuffier too. And despite bathing after dinner, I am still sweating like a dog even after the briefing for the night is given.

I will miss this place because I may never relive that experience again. I may never get a chance to feel that bond in that exact same place. I may never have another chance to have the conversations with people as we look to the sea and feel the soft, calming breeze.

I will miss this place because it was here that I felt closest to actually loving what i thought should be hated.

They say hell starts next week. Because every night for the next 2.5 weeks, we may never sleep. They will ‘turn us out’ like mad dogs, expecting us to behave like zombies in the morning while having training on the job and resting in the afternoon. I never believe that this approach would work effectively in learning the ropes to the job. It’s like they’re trying to break us down so that we can pick the pieces and become stronger. But I think it affects us more deeply, and if people are already hating it before it even starts, i hardly think that’s a good start to our life in there, when we pass out.

Let’s just see how it goes.

Eminem’s wisdom.

Sing For The Moment

These ideas are nightmares for white parents
Whose worst fear is a child with dyed hair and who likes earrings
Like whatever they say has no bearing
Its so scary in a house that allows no swearing
To see him walking around with his headphones blaring
Alone in his own zone, cold and he dont care
He’s a problem child, what bothers him all comes out
When he talks about his fuckin’ dad walkin out
Cos he hates him so bad that he blocks him out
But if he ever saw him again, he’d prolly knock him out
His thoughts are whacked, he’s mad so he’s talkin’ back
Talkin black, brainwashed from rock and rap
He sags his pants, 2 rags and a stocking cap
His step-father hit him so he socked him back
And broke his nose, this house is a broken home
There’s no control, he just lets his emotions go

I guess words are a motherfucker, they can be great.
Or they can be great, or even worse, they can teach hate.

Its like kids hang on every single statement we make
Like they worship us, plus all the stores ship us platinum
Now how the fuck did this metamorphasis happen?
From standin’ on corners and porches just rappin’
To havin’ a fortune, no more kissin’ ass
But then these critics crucify you, journalists try to burn you
Fans turn on you, attorney’s all gonna turn it to
To get their hands on every dime you have
They want you to lose your mind every time you mad
So they can try to make you out to look like a loose canon
You need to spew, dont hesitate to produce air-guns
Thats why these prosecutors wanna convict me
Swiftly just to get me offa these streets quickly
But all their kids been listen’n to me religiously
So i’m signing cds while police fingerprint me
They’re for the judges daughter, but his grudge is against me
If i’m such a fuckin’ menace, this shit doesnt make sense, Pete

It’s all political, if my music is literal and i’m a criminal,
How the fuck can i raise a little girl?
I couldn’t. i wouldn’t be fit to.

Beautiful

In my shoes, just to see
What it’s like, to be me
I’ll be you, let’s trade shoes
Just to see what it’d be like to
Feel your pain, you feel mine
Go inside each other’s mind
Just to see what we find
Look at shit through each other’s eyes

But don’t let ’em say you ain’t beautiful, oh.
They can all get fucked, just stay true to you.

So I try to avoid any eye contact
Cause if I do that then it opens a door for conversation,
Like I want that… I’m not looking for extra attention
I just want to be just like you
Blend in with the rest of the room
Maybe just point me to the closest restroom

I don’t need no fucking man servant
Trying to follow me around and wipe my ass
Laugh at every single joke I crack
And half of them ain’t even funny like
“Ah, Marshall, you’re so funny man, you should be a comedian, god damn”

Unfortunately I am,

but I just hide behind the tears of a clown.

Nobody asked for life to deal us
With these bullshit hands we’re dealt
We have to take these cards ourselves
And flip them, don’t expect no help

Now I could have either just
Sat on my ass and pissed and moaned
Or take this situation in which I’m placed in
And get up and get my own

I was never the type of kid
To wait by the door and pack his bags
Who sat on the porch and hoped and prayed
For a dad to show up who never did

I just wanted to fit in
At every single place
Every school I went
I dreamed of being that cool kid
Even if it meant acting stupid

Love The Way You Lie

Now I know we said things, did things that we didn’t mean
And we fall back into the same patterns, same routine
But your temper’s just as bad as mine is
You’re the same as me
But when it comes to love, you’re just as blinded.

Baby please come back
It wasn’t you
Baby it was me

Maybe our relationship isn’t as crazy as it seems
Maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano

All I know is I love you too much to walk away though
Come inside,
Pick up your bags off the sidewalk
Don’t you hear sincerity in my voice when I talk
Told you this is my fault, look me in the eyeball

Next time I’m pissed, I’ll aim my fist at the dry wall
Next time, there will be no next time.

I apologize even though I know it’s lies
I’m tired of the games, I just want her back

I know I’m a liar, if she ever tries to fucking leave again
I’mma tie her to the bed
And set the house on fire.

Cleaning Out My Closet

Now I would never diss my own mama just to get recognition, take a second to listen who you
think this record is dissin’, but put yourself in my position, just try to envision witnessin’
your Mama poppin’ prescription pills in the kitchen, bitchin’ that someone’s always goin’
through her purse and shits missin’, going through public housing systems, victim of
Munchausen’s syndrome, my whole life I was made to believe I was sick when I wasn’t ’til I grew up, now I blew up, it makes you sick to ya’ stomach, doesn’t it, wasn’t it the reason you made that Cd for me, ma, so you could try to justify the way you treated me, ma, but guess what, your gettin’ older now and it’s cold when your lonely, and Nathan’s growing up so quick, he’s gonna know that your phoney, and Hailie’s getting so big now, you should see her, she’s beautiful, but you’ll never see her, she won’t even be at your funeral, see what hurts me the most is you won’t admit you was wrong, bitch, do your song, keep tellin’ yourself that you was a mom, but how dare you try to take what you didn’t help me to get, you selfish bitch, I hope you fuckin’ burn in hell for this shit, remember when Ronnie died and you said you wished it was me, well guess what, I am dead, dead to you as can be…

Not Afraid.

And I just can’t keep living this way
So starting today, I’m breaking out of this cage
I’m standing up, Imma face my demons
I’m manning up, Imma hold my ground
I’ve had enough, now I’m so fed up
Time to put my life back together right now.

It was my decision to get clean, I did it for me
Admittedly I probably did it subliminally for you
So I could come back a brand new me, you helped see me through
And don’t even realise what you did, believe me you
I been through the ringer, but they can do little to the middle finger
I think I got a tear in my eye, I feel like the king of my world.

Haters can make like bees with no stingers, and drop dead

No more beef flingers, no more drama from now on, I promise

To focus soley on handling my responsibility’s as a father

So I solemnly swear to always treat this roof like my daughters and raise it.

You couldn’t lift a single shingle on it

Cause the way I feel, I’m strong enough to go to the club

Or the corner pub and lift the whole liquor counter up

Cause I’m raising the bar, I shoot for the moon

But I’m too busy gazing at stars, I feel amazing and…

Mockingbird.

Daddy’s always on the move, mamma’s always on the news
I try to keep you sheltered from it but somehow it seems
The harder that I try to do that, the more it backfires on me
All the things growing up his daddy that he had to see

Daddy don’t want you to see but you see just as much as he did
We did not plan it to be this way, your mother and me

But things have gotten so bad between us
I don’t see us ever being together ever again
Like we used to be when we were teenagers
But then of course everything always happens for a reason
I guess it was never meant to be
But it’s just something we have no control over and that’s what destiny is
But no more worries, rest your head and go to sleep
Maybe one day we’ll wake up and this will all just be a dream

I remember back one year when daddy had no money
Mommy wrapped the Christmas presents up
And stuck ’em under the tree and said some of ’em were from me
Cause daddy couldn’t buy ’em
I’ll never forget that Christmas I sat up the whole night crying
Cause daddy felt like a bum, see daddy had a job
But his job was to keep the food on the table for you and mom
And at the time every house that we lived in
Either kept getting broken into and robbed
Or shot up on the block and your mom was saving money for you in a jar
Tryna start a piggy bank for you so you could go to college
Almost had a thousand dollars till someone broke in and stole it
And I know it hurt so bad it broke your momma’s heart
And it seemed like everything was just startin’ to fall apart
Mom and dad was arguin’ a lot so momma moved back
On the Chalmers in the flat one bedroom apartment
And dad moved back to the other side of 8 Mile on Novara
And that’s when daddy went to California with his CD and met Dr. Dre
And flew you and momma out to see me
But daddy had to work, you and momma had to leave me
Then you started seeing daddy on the T.V. and momma didn’t like it
And you and Laney were to young to understand it
Papa was a rollin’ stone, momma developed a habit
And it all happened too fast for either one of us to grab it
I’m just sorry you were there and had to witness it first hand
Cause all I ever wanted to do was just make you proud
Now I’m sitting in this empty house, just reminiscing
Lookin’ at your baby pictures, it just trips me out
To see how much you both have grown, it’s almost like you’re sisters now
Wow, guess you pretty much are and daddy’s still here
Laney I’m talkin’ to you too, daddy’s still here

I like the sound of that, yeah
It’s got a ring to it don’t it?

Shh, momma’s only gone for the moment.

I was thinking…

What if Harry and Luna had found something worth loving of each other?

Above. Lyrics were taken from Mika, My Interpretation.

And anyway…

And here’s to illustrate why i think Emma Watson is pretty.

 

 

Why i cried

I was deeply immersed in the acts of confrontation as scenes of destruction by forces of the dark lord were depicted. I was awed by an aerial view of Hogwarts, one that showed how the magical forces of protection worked. And i cried.

It occured to me suddenly during the movie. More than once.

I just watched Part 2 of Harry Potter 7. I could feel that the producers faced difficulty selecting which detail should be included, and if included, what of those details should have been showcased more.

While there were touch-and-go scenes, at least each of these scenes did convey JK Rowling’s message well. Snape’s flashbacks was overwhelming, more so emotionally. It did seemed a little rushed though.

But why did i cry?

It was when Snape gave Harry his memories. And as Harry slowly came to realize the tragic tale of the boy who loved, more than just a tear rolled down. In fact, it was sniffles and tears with perhaps a slight blocked nose and the feeling of sore eyes as a result.

I felt i could connect with Snape’s flashback in the movie just like how I had formed a huge attachment to The Deathly Hallows upon reading The Prince Tale.

For me, those emotional scenes created a connection, one that linked me back to the book i had read four years ago.

But it was a sadness and nostalgic feeling, composed by the people who made the soundtrack for the movie, that triggered my tears to fall.

To end off, I leave behind that scene. Right here.

And if you want the full version of The Prince’s Tale, you can search my site for it as I had quoted that chapter in one of my previous posts. Here’s an extract:

“Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsed building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.

“So the boy…the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly.

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.”

Another long silence. Then Snape said, “I thought…all those years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” said Dumbledore, his eyes still tight shut. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”

“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”

“Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”

“Lately, only those whom I could not save,” said Snape. He stood up. “You have used me.”

“Meaning?”

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter – ”

“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?”

“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!”

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears.

“After all this time?”

“Always,” said Snape.