I am a contradiction, a living breathing oxymoron.
I am a perfectionist who is too lazy to pursue perfection.
I am a narcisst with an inferior complex.
I am not crazy, not insane just slightly unstable mentally with highly volatile emotions.
I am a fundamentally selfish person.
I am Lemon.
Lunatiquely Lemon.
Or in simpler terms,
The epic phail attempts at philosophical musing by a yellow, sour citrus fruit that claims to be sweet ^^
Let's just hope it is not the proverbial calm before a storm because that would be a complete bitch.
Been pretty successful at staying of their hair now but I think they're gonna give me shit when I tell them that I'm planning on applying for a part time job.
Let's just cross that bridge when we reach it.
Anyhoodles, this post is probably a change from the only 2 kinds of posts that this blog currently has:
Frivolous and meaningless posts
And angry posts.
No, this one is going to be a contemplative, albeit emo post.
Because I woke up this morning with this urge to hug my sis but she's sick.
I love hugs.
I am a rather affectionate person and I like to express my affections physically.
Like holding my mom or my sis' hand when we are out and hugs and cuddles.
Greeting hugs are nice and all.
But it is so fleeting.
My mom's sick too because of some virus flying around so she can't cuddle with me.
I admit, I'm a big baby who likes to be huggled but hey, what's wrong with that?
But the person I love to hug the most is, ironically, my dad.
When he's in a good mood, being reasonable and not guilt tripping me, that is.
My affectionate nature is inherited from my dad because when I was young, he would always hug me and stuff.
I like hugging my dad because he feels very solid and strong and I feel safe and comfortable even though he says that he is too bony to be nice to hug.
But now, I'm too busy trying to get out of the line of his attention because he will zero in on me and start his sermons.
I don't need that.
But I am still a very affectionate person.
I mean, we have a tradition in my family since primary school where my dad will fetch us to school sometimes and he will give us a 'gold coin' (dollar coin) and we will kiss him goodbye on the cheek.
Even now, whenever he does fetch me to school, I still do the same thing even if the night before, he was yelling at me.
I have no idea what I have been blabbing on about.
But its just this kind of weird, unexplainable feeling that spurs me to write.
I wish Ting liked cuddling but noooo.
Whatever I am, she is not.
Whatever she is, I am not.
Ergo, she doesn't really likes physical expressions of affection.
But sometimes, on a whim, she will climb into my bed and annoy me by asking if we can sleep together.
We end up wrestling, and get tired and just flop down, trying to catch our breaths.
That counts as cuddling to me.
It is so difficult to pen my thoughts and feelings down into words because it can never really depict what I am trying to say.
I guess this is why my essays never get really high marks because it is quite abstract and disjointed.
My words follow my thoughts and my mind jumps from one place to another all the time.
As does my mood swings.
So the points don't connect.
They don't flow smoothly but haphazardly and all over the place.
Once I start, my fingers and my mind just take over.
It is hard to stop because there is so so much that I want to write, to free from the confines of my mind.
Because I will probably never voice it out.
No, I do give voice to my thoughts and feelings sometimes but only to that elusive person in the mirror I can never seem to reach.
I think that if one day, I can reach that person, touch that person, hear that person and talk to that person, it would be a wonderful thing.
Because I know what she wants and she knows what I want.
I want her to exist in my world.
She needs to learn to speak for herself instead of telling me all her feelings.
All those mes and hers in our heads need to shut up and disappear.
Because I can't find her.
And she can't find me.
Just who exactly is she?
Because she doesn't exist now and neither do I.
I am a forgetful person.
And my muse gives me inspiration in candle lights that shines brightly for a brief moment before dying.
This is why I keep writing to remember how I feel.
To forget my feelings is a very sad and lonely thing.
This is why everytime I write, I preserve a part of myself in my words that would otherwise fade into obscurity and nothingness.
I think I have been sunk in my thoughts and my bizarre mind long enough and I will stop here.
Time to surface from my thoughts and head back into reality.
I hate reality but there is where I am supposed to be.
Not here in my mind although it is infinitely better here.
Lunatiquely yours,
Lemon
`iRained
| Stark Raving Lunacy|