No feelings

Maybe the green tea is not hot enough. Or I’ve been trying too desperately…just trying, not knowing what I’m trying. If you’re in the middle of a crowded, hectic environment and you watch how cheery and miserable people juxtapose against each other, you wonder where exactly you stand. In the end you refuse to stand anywhere and keep moving until all of them have receded into a somewhat bearable distance. But today they were everywhere. Why they all have to remind me about the time of the year, I do not know.
And then I noticed I wasn’t breathing. My attention span dropped. My brain refused to utter a word through my mouth.

This is when you realise you long for some solitary pastime involving a creative and self-expressive process; either that or you need to get laid. I guess we all need a reminder that we are still there and not…

I’ve once again become a bad listener. I’ve never been a good one which is why I’d slept all the way through history, physics and chemistry classes. In this environment my ears absorb so much, that in the end I only hear a drone in my ears and simultaneously hollowness emphasises how much I don’t care about you. If I have no interest, my sense of focus becomes non existent. Nothing you say will be of any importance.
At work I hear so many whispers with a tone suggesting resentment, dissatisfaction and endless bitching. These whispers and the sound of London in general manifested themselves in my dreams last night. Imagined noises must have woke me three times during the night along with numerous hypnic jerks.

Are you a fan of stories that start in spring and end in fall? I think a story’s process should always adjust to the seasons.
Whenever I realise that even music is unable to translate my current mental state and access my heart, I know there is something not right and there is nothing that I can do about it. Sleep it off. Run it off. It’s not easy.
For the first time since late August I feel weak again, powerless against the concept of survival. There is this uncertainty of whether or not what I do is of any significance; questions about the country’s mental state, my own stability and my debts to people I care about, the only people I care about. This is so Modernist.

What else do I have to do to prove that I am a bad person? Have I ever told you that once I was at an independent cinema, they were showing the trailer of a drama about a man with Down syndrome who was in love. I caught myself laughing loudly. He said something along the line: “I may be stupid, but I can love.”
But listen, I thought I was incapable of loving. And the idea of someone who lacks the ability to comprehend fully made me want to categorise myself as mentally disabled, too. I was laughing at the both of us, but I know this is no justification.

It’s weird ever since I’ve moved house. At the landlady’s, despite the noise and her frequent family gatherings, I felt a soothing brightness; still I was annoyed and felt claustrophobic, but still there was a light. And in my new place there’s a warm darkness. I felt a heat in my room, which, I am sure, will be hellish once it’s summer. And when the landlord suggested that we could cook something on Christmas Day, I knew it was not right, especially if sensing some form of inappropriate intentions, which are actually harmless at its base. If I say I need space, I need it to the fullest.

I remember the best Christmas and New Year’s that I’ve ever had. It was in High Wycombe back in 2006. I was all by myself in the house on Garratts Way. I read four books in less than a week. I never had an opportunity like that again.

I hope you lot enjoyed the dreadful video blog, which I only watched once and never will again, the same with all the other ones. The next one will probably be a letter; a very resentful letter. However, it won’t be as resentful as Kafka’s letter to his father. Or maybe yes.
In Prague, when I left my note on Kafka’s grave, I recalled the dream I had about him. Both of us were in danger, but he only cared about saving his own arse. I resented him for that. The moment you realise that someone’s not loyal and faithful enough; you automatically create a shield which you call self-reliance. It’s not necessarily a sign of not trusting people, though.
Though, self-reliance, after a long period of time, hinders you from asking others for help, even if it’s only a little favour. Because you know they won’t do it. You are never of priority to anyone, except to your mum. And this is why she’s the most important person in my life. But I’m too much of a coward to tell her.

The anatomy of love

So that was my first night at the new place and like last year I had a little lady bird invasion in my room. They are all funny and dazed, slowly dying on the ceiling and underneath my bed.

It’s the first time that I feel alone – in a negative sense. Ever since I put my novel aside for no particular reason (apart from waiting for the final comments), I’ve been occupying myself with friends and work mates; I have no idea how I have managed to last that long. Both cheeks are still sore from heavy lifting. Socialising requires a lot of energy only to pretend that you can connect well.

So in the last few days I’ve been moving, shopping and arranging my room. The mattress is bliss and so is the new duvet cover. I admit that double beds make you lonely, I’m not even that type of person who encounters that sort of feeling, ever. That’s because usually I’m always writing, which means, I am never alone. But having abandoned writing for over a week, I feel like I’ve been wasting time.
Sorry for criticising you for not being able to cope with loneliness. I didn’t know you were emptier than I am, that you have no creativity to create an alternate world to live in. However, I still envy you, because you can cope in the world with people that I hate…for a longer period. You’ll make it a lot further than I will.
Other people play music or read books to reflect their souls, which is fine, but I want to create reflection by myself rather than having someone to do the job for me. Listening to Nine Inch Nails, for instance, makes me wonder why I can’t create music like that. You know what I mean?
I do understand why you feel alone, but in order to prevent this, you mustn’t abandon your creativity. Utilise it to the max or up to the point where you believe you no longer need people around you. It’s not always a bad thing.

Very often one of your friends might ask you: “Are you capable of killing someone?”
And because in my dreams, I am, I say yes, depends on how much I am driven by hate. There are times where I abandon my conscience. Some people aren’t good with reason, but they have reasons for acting this way – anger and indifference. Again, I envy those who are free of these negative sentiments and are ruled by reason. I also hate them for trying to teach me by seeking to talk. If I had wanted to talk, I would’ve continued visiting my psychiatrist who was convinced that the way I am leads back to being born with an Asian mentality which will be part of me forever.
How ridiculous it sounded when he first said that, I’d spent years thinking about it. Despite being more westernised than most people and showing indifference to my ethnic origin, I did see a mistake there. A lot of resentments and disillusion play a role in this matter, but I don’t feel old enough yet to tackle this issue. I haven’t even mapped out my memoirs, yet. You see how busy I am?
On the outside they say I have beauty that attracts; attracting who and what? Freaky losers it seems. And winners that are on the other side of the globe.

I’m still paranoid about my landlord’s intentions. I hope the tenant-landlord-relationship will remain as discreet as possible, each one minding his and her business. I made a shocking discovery in the bathroom the other day. Inside the shower cubicle are five thick square windows built in underneath each other revealing a blurry view to the corridor. Is this art or full exposure? The previous tenant was a gay theatre guy. I haven’t had chance of meeting him, although I was supposed to get the other spare keys off him, which never happened – a shame really, as I had some questions. I met the gay couple in the other flat next door and I met a lady in the flat beneath. She said “Another new one!”
I wonder how long each of my landlord’s tenants lasted and how long I will last.

Some women are only looking to get married to kind-hearted men who are unable to stir anything up inside. All they want are security, someone to look after and cook for. And I hate how some men particularly view Asian women this way, as if these women were easy to bait into marriage. He might think I am one of those. Another sign of inappropriate approach and I will spread all possible negative energies that I possess.
Unfortunately I don’t fall in love with people, I never have. I fall in love with ideas. Now I understand why as a kid, I always wanted to become an inventor. It makes perfect sense now.

There are people who are not granted love…they are given one chance, but they let it slip. I’ve let it slip several times, because I no longer know how this all functions and on the other hand, are you not supposed to feel a spark?

The novel’s emphasis on the heart is only to depict love differently. It’s not particularly an emotion, is it? My capacity for decay is currently huge, so I need to get back to the novel to minimise the hole as much as possible.
But the thing about shadows…they can expand, shift and swallow.

What if we could?

It’s another of my favourite season gone and I still haven’t made it back to my beloved Edinburgh where I fell in love back in 2003. The autumn colours were good to my eyes and the smell of maple a pat on my cerebral surface. It was a sense of melancholy that had produced tears of joy. But instead of spending the money to go anywhere, I decided to join the gym and book my flight back home. Finding it more important to visit your family instead of a well-deserved holiday in solitude is normal. For solitude, I only need to find a different place behind a closed door and it should be fine. But I won’t tolerate any noises other than my own and that of the boiler. In a town like this, it’s very difficult. You would imagine I’m better off in a hut somewhere in the mountains. Maybe…but ghosts would haunt me. My head would release too many sounds and misconceived images. How inspiring they might be sometimes, I couldn’t handle the overkill. The overkill of anything would drive me towards the edge of what’s left of my own mercy.
Mercy, yes, you heard right. The word just randomly shot through my head and it makes perfect sense, but in a non-biblical way of course.
There are people who can’t forgive themselves and who are unkind to themselves. And those people you can no longer save from insanity.

This morning was my first time jogging through the cemetery. Pretty much all grave stones were moss-covered, the paths hilly and uneven, but all those names still have meaning. While thinking about that I felt a tingle in my stomach. All those names were begging to be revived, but I don’t remember any of their names.

Someone insulted me by saying I was the female equivalent of Schopi. Why would they say that? If there’s one dog breed that I don’t like, it’s poodles. Scarily enough the night after, I dreamt about petting an abandoned white poodle. Poodles are so weird; always so anxious and so full of themselves…
If I say I cannot give the required motherly love to a baby, this also applies to dogs; your most loyal friends. Strangely enough, the idea of looking after someone seems to mean the world to a lot of people, as if they had no other purposes. I feel sorry for those, but at the same time I admire them. At least they know how to function and interact with creatures of the same kind; the kind which resents you for not feeling the same way; the kind that doesn’t understand that a feeling is never mutual.
We may smell the same, but the ingredient of our sweat is of different origin. People never will understand.

27, and still can’t use a basic tin opener, I get confused about whether I’m a right- or left-handed person. There’s nothing that confuses me more than that. So this morning I couldn’t have beans on toast, because I ran out of Heinz beans – you know they have a ring pull system which other brands don’t have! Why would I buy non-Heinz beans? I was so screwed this morning. I was too embarrassed to ask my landlady for help – you know me, I don’t ask for help – I haven’t got to that point yet where I’m shameful enough to do so. And yet, I’m telling you this. That’s because for me, you don’t exist. Not many things do.
But decent tin openers exist and I will buy one today.

I think in order to get the person that I really want, I need to work a lot harder, not for his sake, but for my very own. Maybe I will get to the point where I will tell him “I no longer want you”. Then I will watch him drown in his own perplexity while I cry on the inside shouting at myself for being a piteous liar.
And there’s nothing worse than lying for the sake of pride.
It’s inevitable that every day we do things that we hate. And hating only signifies that we are prisoners of our own emotions – the feeling of being trapped; doing things that we don’t want to do, but our duties are more than clear. You may call it discipline, OCD or whatever, but it doesn’t change the fact that the concept of freedom is only wishful thinking; imagination striving for escapism. It has never been different.
Once you have arrived at your desired place, there will always be something missing.

Going back to Schopi, I don’t like him as much I as I like Cioran, who expresses a lot more anger and determination and truth, while Schopi was just hateful and resentful of those around him, particularly his mother.
I just realised that all my favourite philosophers never believed that life was about something more. To them it is all about staying alive and feeding our boredom.

Please note that all these words I write I don’t talk about. If we meet, please kindly keep this shit to yourself, because I don’t discuss things. I couldn’t discuss things with anyone.
What if we could? Then you must be the character that I’ve been waiting for all my life. I want you naked on my sheet of paper…so bad…