I think you're right, I am quite childish in my behaviors. Really. I mean, I poke fun at people like an 18 year old, snigger at lame jokes like some 16 year old, and laugh at mishaps like a 14.
But that's really how much youth I've lost. There had been so many comparisons with my old pictures and new, and nobody ever said I looked older now. In fact, I seem more vibrant and youthful than that old dinghy just barely 3 years ago.
And I've robbed myself the opportunity to behave like one young spacemen floating through cloudless days, swimming in make-believe. I can't say I haven't been young, but maybe just not enough. Home was about growing up too fast with too many idealists in the family, and school had been a push towards become an adult ready for the workforce. The only time I felt my age at 17 was when I hit the jam studios wailing in painful verses and horrid choruses to ease all that madness that amounted to the silt of today's irritation.
Aah. It be nice to be by the beach tomorrow getting a tan, sipping on sodas, watching the ships sail by to the distant sounds of rustling tree crowns. Such was the synthesis of overdue landmines that exploded, harming the innocent. Landmines of the proliferation of excessive needs and pure human hunger for more. But more, is never enough.
Hence, in an institution that sidelined the likes of me, I had to grow up. I'm pretty much the balance in the daily disgruntlement of surrounding people (and objects, because some people so choose to act like stones) and the tip of the finger that almost lands in the pointing game. Of course, I usually win, for too many people are baffled by their rights and wrongs to the point the rights and wrongs become, and rot away in a toss.
Put me back 10 years without the unnecessary footsies and I might be a little more down to earth today. Mom says plenty times she's spoiled me. Truth: I spoiled her through submitting to her wills. I was a bookworm, then a geek. 16 years whole. Not enough? I never bled any till 10 when I ran too quick for class, and another once when I fell off the skateboard at 15. All that in between, I was grounded or buried in books, assignments, supplements, or handicrafts.
So unlike me to be talking about this, but I do hope it at least dispels some myths: I ain't no walk around. 17 was probably a good year to mention, although sneaking out, stealing, and lying became my best tricks way before that. But 17 was the year I decided to quit outright. I wasn't going to be a doctor, lawyer, or the prime minister, as reminded constantly by the people at home.
Naturally, when I finally blew my university chances, mom shed a tear, and dad snorted a really, and I mean a really long wail. They wanted me to retake the admission criterion. I simply packed my bags off to the army for almost 3 years.
Deprived childhood? Count me in. I was an awesome graffiti artiste, an average guppy farmer, a huge saga seed collector, incredible story teller, and a superb imaginationeer. All that, under the cloak of darkness in the room , or way off into the night.
Hence the habit of staying up late, sneaking phone calls to neighboring friends, and kicking balls in total silence in the unlit fields. Yeah, those were the days of having no official playdom, just plain jail.
I'm glad I broke free, in some ways. But I laugh at my own pitiful achievements to rake in the goldmine and climb the status ladder. The folks had hopes pinned on the four of us, most of all me, for I appeared the smartest: I could feign hunger so bad that dinner can be served, from scratch in one minute, or become such an incredible batter trader for totally redundant things for others.
That, of course, became the ultimate price to pay. I decided to lose the intellect just so that I could feel the simple warm afternoon wind in my hair, sitting way up on the playground walls, basking in the sun. Granted, I used to have to climb like crazy, now I'm tall enough to just bounce up there. Know what I mean?
So call me naive and childish. I really don't mind. I just mind having to keep dealing with people's affairs that seriously don't quite concern me, like how much share the family business will split into, or whoever gets the folk's house, or who will take over the task of maintaining peace in the entire family line. I'm old, but age shouldn't be a deciding factor for responsibility that honestly resides outside mine. Or ours, since you are reading.
When the breeze stopped, it would have done so at my grave, certainly not on me now.
I've never been to an offshore beach other than Desaru, then again, both countries were one once. And I'm not exactly 100% local blood count. It's weird. But coming back, I would love to see for myself why white sandy beaches are nicer than coarse yellow ones, like so many others have seen.
The biggest question is: why haven't I? The answer: fueling ambitions other than my own right up till now. And it doesn't seem to want to go away. With an ass filled with liabilities and baggage, it makes a choked and overflowing toilet look too measly.
I'm lamenting. But well. shit happens. When privacy gets ripped apart, at least glorify the finer points to make it at the least sound sane. Looks, in this case, wouldn't really matter anymore, would it?
Did that road trip this morning, hence the pictures below. It rained so bad up north that I looked like some retard just out the showers with my clothes on when I reached the office. It was totally crazy. And the umbrella I had wasn't even small to begin with. And today's session just double slammed me with its ultra-unending demands (not on my end, but I had to sit in and watch the demands being made and delivered). Stupid.
I am stupid. And dumb. Okay okay, just stupid. And dumb. A little.
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