2015 is a great year; it's different, because I've escaped from the confinement within myself.
The many events in life and all the conditions I've been through has led to a natural obsession towards observation. Throughout my scientific journey as an engineer and my artistic journey as a poet/writer, I've came to realize too much about myself. I've engaged in activities I would've shied away from, and I've bonded with friends while exposing my true self to the world.
And I'm really excited, because crawling out of my pothole and seeing the world as it is opens up so many opportunities for adventure.
Continuing from part 1:
Artistic Impression (January - March)
Pride, the severest sin of humanity, was the key behind this chapter of life. As a human living under his own skin for three years, unwilling to face the cold truths of the world, forever hiding behind the masks of his fictional characters, the realization that I am my life's writer may have been too strong for my scarred mind to comprehend.
Yes, I know, I am my life's writer is a cliche advice, but for someone who believed that he didn't deserve all the good in life, it was something that seemed so far-fetched, so unreal, yet so... real.
And when you toss a guy who've spent three years living in the shadows into the real world, there can only be two possibilities: he'll immediately collapse under pressure, or he'll let his pride be the end of him.
I was the latter.
By hiding myself from reality, I've developed a comfort zone in my own fantasies, a place where I felt safe... the only place where I felt safe. In a make-believe world where everything can be justified through stories and personalities, where problems can be solved through plain ignorance, I thought I was invincible. I was at the top of the food chain, eating my way through the weak, for a writer can never be anything but the master of his or her own story.
But nothing matters because I am in control of my life... right? In this world, the only thing that matters is me and everything that defines me. There is no opposition, no competition, no challenge and nothing to fight for.
Because I've won, didn't I? I've conquered my fantasy, so reality shouldn't be a problem... right?
personal / real (March)
But I was mistaken, for the transitions that haunted me in the past continued to loom over me, bearing their now bloodless claws at my heart. This should not be, for I've completely understood myself, had I not?
But I didn't realize that all the way until then, I've been blaming all my flaws and all my wrongs on nonexistent entities. I've made peace with the personalities that I used to take refuge in, but there's one more issue that plagued my soul.
During the "Transition Through Time" chapter in 2012, I've wrongly suspected myself of suffering from bipolar disorder. It was a naive attempt to justify my problems. Yet, it's like I've not learned any lessons from it, for I continued researching for probable causes of this. I came to conclude that I've been inflicted with depersonalization, which shares some similarities with another self-awareness anomaly known as derealization. Now, I won't go into the nitty-gritty here, but even until this very day, I've not found a description that so accurately described my transitions.
So, I'm done I guess? I've fully identified myself, and now I can finally face the world.
I was so happy. I believed that my journey has ended, and that I have discovered everything that I consisted of and everything that I was. I lived a perfect life.
It was an afternoon in university. I was revising my course material in a quiet study area, when all of a sudden, I felt it. I did not doubt for one second, for it's all too familiar. I started zoning out. I started detaching myself from the world around me. It was back, though I was confident that it would no longer terrorize me simply because I've pinpointed what it is.
On that very day, the very moment it happened, I set up an appointment with the university counselling service.
It was supposed to be a thirty-minute talk, but her unbusy schedule allowed us to extend the appointment to two hours. It was hard to explain everything I've been through using spoken words, so I failed to communicate my point about the transitions. She brushed off my issue as nothing remotely close to a mental problem, but rather, it was the trauma associated with an unhealed heart; a scar buried deep within.
After the appointment, I still wasn't satisfied, for I believed that I've not obtained the answer I wanted, and I did not manage to clarify my questions and doubts in a way that is understandable to anyone but me.
But I knew one thing; the significance of the events in this chapter cannot be undermined.
A few days passed. I finally realized.
Heart (April - Present)
I just had to take a few steps back and observe the counselor's words from a birds-eye view. I've seen it; the bigger picture can never be more obvious than this.
Whether or not I suffered from depersonalization and/or derealization is not important, for I've not pinpointed the true cause behind it.
It was the fear of attachment. It was the fear of trust.
I've distanced myself from everyone that loves me because of this fear. I could not bear to watch my heart break through the same crack lines as before.
The teenage love incident in high school was not just any regular heartbreak; no, to me, it was the crumbling of my perfect-world fantasy that I grew up in. Yet, from the rubble of a destroyed fantasy, I did not emerge in reality; no, I rose from the very same fantasy that caused my downfall. I've essentially been layering stacks of pretense and make-believes above my scarred heart, driving it deeper into the wasted ground.
Lifting everything that I've built above the wound takes time, as even at this very time of writing, I'm still consciously and subconsciously freeing my heart from all the masks that I've wrapped around it. But it takes a lot longer than I've expected, for the heart isn't the only problem I'm facing...
Worldly Desire: The Warman Experience (March - May)
As I was still tending to my heart on the sidelines, my interest towards the world has been piqued by an engineering design project. On the first semester of Year 2, for our Engineering Design I module, we were tasked to form a group to compete in the annual Warman Design and Build Competition.
It was a case where two separate chapters began to conflict; the desire to love humanity, and the desire to maintain my excessive pride.
This chapter of life is further split into fifteen sub-chapters, due to its significance in changing my perception of the world and myself.
This is going to be very long. I'll be splitting the first six sub-chapters into two sections; one that covers the Warman project, and one that serves as a personal interpretation of the poem. Most of the Warman experience up to Chapter 6 (Forbidden Land) was written just days after the competition, when my memory was still fresh, while the interpretations are recent writings of mine. Therefore, the writing styles might differ due to my own maturation process. Also, whereas the Warman experience is more personal, the interpretations are more observational.
1. With Me
The subtitle was added a few months after the completion of the poem; it was originally simply titled "Worldly Desire".
Warman
Now, I suck at designing. I'd break under the pressure of competitions. The competition was worth 12% of the final marks, yet the workload is equivalent to a project that consists of 50%.
But nothing matters because I am in control of my life... right? In this world, the only thing that matters is me and everything that defines me. There is no opposition, no competition, no challenge and nothing to fight for.
Because I've won, didn't I? I've conquered my fantasy, so reality shouldn't be a problem... right?
personal / real (March)
But I was mistaken, for the transitions that haunted me in the past continued to loom over me, bearing their now bloodless claws at my heart. This should not be, for I've completely understood myself, had I not?
But I didn't realize that all the way until then, I've been blaming all my flaws and all my wrongs on nonexistent entities. I've made peace with the personalities that I used to take refuge in, but there's one more issue that plagued my soul.
During the "Transition Through Time" chapter in 2012, I've wrongly suspected myself of suffering from bipolar disorder. It was a naive attempt to justify my problems. Yet, it's like I've not learned any lessons from it, for I continued researching for probable causes of this. I came to conclude that I've been inflicted with depersonalization, which shares some similarities with another self-awareness anomaly known as derealization. Now, I won't go into the nitty-gritty here, but even until this very day, I've not found a description that so accurately described my transitions.
So, I'm done I guess? I've fully identified myself, and now I can finally face the world.
I was so happy. I believed that my journey has ended, and that I have discovered everything that I consisted of and everything that I was. I lived a perfect life.
It was an afternoon in university. I was revising my course material in a quiet study area, when all of a sudden, I felt it. I did not doubt for one second, for it's all too familiar. I started zoning out. I started detaching myself from the world around me. It was back, though I was confident that it would no longer terrorize me simply because I've pinpointed what it is.
On that very day, the very moment it happened, I set up an appointment with the university counselling service.
It was supposed to be a thirty-minute talk, but her unbusy schedule allowed us to extend the appointment to two hours. It was hard to explain everything I've been through using spoken words, so I failed to communicate my point about the transitions. She brushed off my issue as nothing remotely close to a mental problem, but rather, it was the trauma associated with an unhealed heart; a scar buried deep within.
After the appointment, I still wasn't satisfied, for I believed that I've not obtained the answer I wanted, and I did not manage to clarify my questions and doubts in a way that is understandable to anyone but me.
But I knew one thing; the significance of the events in this chapter cannot be undermined.
A few days passed. I finally realized.
Heart (April - Present)
I just had to take a few steps back and observe the counselor's words from a birds-eye view. I've seen it; the bigger picture can never be more obvious than this.
Whether or not I suffered from depersonalization and/or derealization is not important, for I've not pinpointed the true cause behind it.
It was the fear of attachment. It was the fear of trust.
I've distanced myself from everyone that loves me because of this fear. I could not bear to watch my heart break through the same crack lines as before.
The teenage love incident in high school was not just any regular heartbreak; no, to me, it was the crumbling of my perfect-world fantasy that I grew up in. Yet, from the rubble of a destroyed fantasy, I did not emerge in reality; no, I rose from the very same fantasy that caused my downfall. I've essentially been layering stacks of pretense and make-believes above my scarred heart, driving it deeper into the wasted ground.
Lifting everything that I've built above the wound takes time, as even at this very time of writing, I'm still consciously and subconsciously freeing my heart from all the masks that I've wrapped around it. But it takes a lot longer than I've expected, for the heart isn't the only problem I'm facing...
Worldly Desire: The Warman Experience (March - May)
As I was still tending to my heart on the sidelines, my interest towards the world has been piqued by an engineering design project. On the first semester of Year 2, for our Engineering Design I module, we were tasked to form a group to compete in the annual Warman Design and Build Competition.
So the competition goal was to build an automated robot that will move on a pre-built track, pick up golf balls arranged in different positions, and deposit them in one (or more) of the three holes located a few meters away from the starting point. It seemed easy. No.
It was a case where two separate chapters began to conflict; the desire to love humanity, and the desire to maintain my excessive pride.
This chapter of life is further split into fifteen sub-chapters, due to its significance in changing my perception of the world and myself.
This is going to be very long. I'll be splitting the first six sub-chapters into two sections; one that covers the Warman project, and one that serves as a personal interpretation of the poem. Most of the Warman experience up to Chapter 6 (Forbidden Land) was written just days after the competition, when my memory was still fresh, while the interpretations are recent writings of mine. Therefore, the writing styles might differ due to my own maturation process. Also, whereas the Warman experience is more personal, the interpretations are more observational.
1. With Me
The subtitle was added a few months after the completion of the poem; it was originally simply titled "Worldly Desire".
Warman
Now, I suck at designing. I'd break under the pressure of competitions. The competition was worth 12% of the final marks, yet the workload is equivalent to a project that consists of 50%.
So I've told myself, "it's never about the marks." I went through it. For the experience.
It was early March. Our progress was miserable. Truth to be told, I was barely feeling the pressure of the project. Our group had meetings for, like, once a week, on Friday evenings. I was sad because I had to be in university on a Friday.
I was still a "me" person. I was indifferent towards our group; nothing was special. People told me the project's going to be a lifelong memory. Somehow, I believed them. Instincts work in the most unexpected ways.
There must be some part of me that desired a break from the repetitive, monotonous lifestyle of studying. University life was too bland for my taste. I needed thrills.
That part of me had a desire for excitement. Though I went through many exhilarating events in my life, most of it was simply... me.
Maybe in the past, I've subconsciously weakened bonds with society for fear of their eventual breakage. Nothing is absolutely eventual. I wanted a time when we can all live with this same worldly desire; something that we can take pride in; something that needed no false emotions.
I wanted to share satisfaction and disappointment with others.
Personal Interpretation
The past few chapters of life have always been about me, as if there is no one in the world but me. I used to loathe society, but the competition instilled the team spirit within me, but really, at that time, I was only pretending to be very enthusiastic about everything just for the sake of my pride. I thought I was the best. I thought everything would be settled because I was just that good.
Really? Was I perfect? It's an interesting observation, for the project started with me claiming that "the world will desire with me", as if I had the potential to change the world.
Also, it's the first time that I started actively using "we" in my poems, whereas in my previous poems, it has mostly been just "I". It's a really impressive thing to note, for it proves to myself that poetry is indeed a tap into my subconscious.
Warman
A worldly desire that is shared with society for society. My former anti-societal habits itched. Yes, there were societies which I loved to be part of, but the project threw me out of my comfort zone. It was a painful process trying to blend myself into something I was so unfamiliar with. Yet, I was secretly gleeful. I felt free.
I didn't have the most proactive or responsive group, but I had a good feeling; not that "good feelings" were enough to change me. I often wore an optimistic mask and portrayed myself as a happy-go-lucky, enthusiastic, hardworking guy. Yet, I was more truthful than before, simply because I had a desire.
Yet many did not share the desire that I held onto. I thought that if a guy like me who had little interest in engineering would be pumped up for the project, others would've be one step ahead of me.
If what I had was a willing desire, then I did not need the assistance of others to boost my morale; I just needed others to share this willing desire with me.
Three weeks passed since our group was formed. Meetings were still held on a weekly basis, though I've picked up hints on the group's ever-growing passion.
Great; it's more "us" and less "me".
So mid-semester break started. Our group had five members; only half showed up at any given time, although we've worked from nine to six everyday (excluding Saturday); yes, even on a Sunday. We had a great start; we've came up with amazing ideas and practical solutions, but the group just didn't function well. Our progress remained minimal.
Personal Interpretation
The wound of my heart could be free from the layers of pretense, but exposure to the bladed air particles will cause it to bleed. However, this is but a natural maturation process. In other words, I need to hurt myself to improve myself.
The project's a pain in the ass, but what really hurts was the myriad of false expectations; a harsh reminder that the past actually happened. It was my biggest fear; to place trust onto something and watch is break.
We had ambitious plans for the design of our robot, but life isn't perfect. As I began to lose hope, I begin to sink deeper and deeper into the gray area that I never dared to visit.
Warman
Many concepts were either delayed or trashed; the main reason being miscommunication. There was barely a time when all five of us were together. Suddenly, bad ideas became our design foundations and no one said a word. There were assumptions that all problems would eventually be solved. Nothing is absolutely eventual.
I doubted my revised perception of society. Nothing worked because everyone had the same flaws, so aren't everyone simply clones of one another? We've encountered problems and we either forgot or refused to inform the rest, for we had too much confidence in ourselves. Although we called ourselves a team, in truth, each of us had a boundary that individualizes us from the rest.
A willing desire will be ineffective if everyone kept it to themselves.
We really were overconfident. Our design was significantly harder than the mainstream approach. We were digging our own graves.
We carelessly chose a design, carelessly worked on it, and couldn't care less about our overall progress. That right there is a trip to the darkest jungle. We were lost.
Personal Interpretation
Ah... Ain't society my biggest fear of the past? That was the reason behind my egocentric attitude; the cause behind all the false sense of pride and pretense. Having lived in a world where I am my own writer, I had to break this boundary to live in a group where we are our writers; the success or failure of the project lay not in my hands, but our hands.
It's a tough change, that's for sure. I thought I managed it well, but it's after the end of the Worldly Desire chapter did I realize that I broke my societal boundaries a tad bit too early.
I was still a prideful writer.
Warman
We worked our asses off (at least for those who were there), and yet almost nothing went right.
Guess my optimistic mask wasn't working as well as I've thought.
There were many apologies but core problems remained unresolved; questions remained unasked.
Our progress stalled, and many a time I blamed myself for it; two weeks in the project lab wouldn't make me a better engineer.
We had a problem; our group had no leader. After taking availability and sociability factors into consideration, I was deemed the most fit to lead the group.
I didn't know shit about our progress.
Great, so it was my fault. I was doubtful of everything I did; it didn't help that I was the "nice guy" of the group, and therefore I became the punching bag for mistakes, many due to my inexperience.
Suddenly I felt unneeded; my willing desire seemed to be a huge fat lie. This project will come and go, just like that.
Although I did shitty work, our device was almost completed by the end of the mid semester break.
"What did I contribute?"
Personal Interpretation
I started to question the validity of my observations, for it seemed that my perception of society was missing a few screws here and there. I also questioned my choice to mask myself with fake smiles and forced confidence, for it didn't seem to work nearly as well as I've expected.
Is it me, or is it them?
I was lost, for I did not know who to blame. Yes, I was still finding parties to blame, for I refused to believe that my observations were flawed.
Pride is indeed the killer of conscience.
Warman
It was the last day of the mid semester break; a freaking Sunday. We worked for nine hours. It was the last day to take a video of the device in action for early submission. We would've gotten 100% of the obtained marks. Any video submissions after that day and we would've gotten only 75%. Doesn't seem like a big deal.
We were very close.
I take back what I've said; I did contribute. I was the coder of the team, yet I did a horrendous job. I never wanted to code.
I forced myself to do it for the sake of the team.
Almost no one knew about this, but I was very demotivated; I may have acted like one who self-depreciates for the sake of entertainment, but I did take every insult and criticism to heart. It tore me apart, slowly.
I started to revert to my "me" mindset; there was no point of me working in a group because I just couldn't work well. My role could have been easily replaced and there would be no difference.
It was a Sunday and we were very close, yet our device encountered too many problems.
I stayed back alone until eleven in the night to continue testing the device and fixing problems. No one forced me to do it; I did. It may be the worst decision I've ever made throughout this entire project.
As I saw other teams achieving moderate success with their devices, the pitiful state of ours killed me a little every time I took it for a run. By the end of it, the fire is gone.
The most useless member trying to be the savior of the team. I was hopeless.
That night, I had an "all of you" mindset, simply because I found myself being completely useless; the fire which ignited my passion started to die off. Everyone else could work without me and nothing would change; maybe the team's productivity might even go up, I didn't know.
Nobody needed me anyway.
Personal Interpretation
If pride were a time bomb, then it certainly exploded during the night, because although I was on fire, the fire within me died off. I've overestimated myself, for my most recent revelation was that I'm my own writer. To accomplish absolutely nothing throughout the last night of the semester break has slit the arteries of my pride, leaving me to bleed to death, for everything that me and my pride stood for has all been a lie.
It was a mistake. I fucked it up.
Warman
I lost all hope in success.
After the mid-semester break, we had less than four weeks before the date of the competition; yet within those four weeks, we had to complete a major design overhaul.
Our initial design had no chance.
I was at the lowest of the low, filled with despair and smothered by pressure; many expected too much from me and I couldn't cope with it. I was a good-for-nothing coder, builder, designer, engineer.
It was a situation I never wanted to be in.
I still smiled. I still laughed. I still tried to be optimistic. All were fake. Some I had to force so much it left scars. The thing is, nobody forced me to wear a mask, so I couldn't complain.
Old habits die hard.
I remembered someone telling me not to talk the talk, but walk the walk. Well please, I tried my best yet there were no immediate results; I was simply inexperienced.
That person told me those words two days before the mid-semester test of another subject.
As if I was expected to continue to work a day before the test, even though I have already worked like a fucking dog in the past few weeks.
I couldn't take it anymore. I was all alone in the end.
Personal Interpretation
I've just read the Warman experience I've written above. To be honest, I was pretty fucking stupid.
Heh. Guess I was really in a forbidden land, eh?
I was blaming the person who told me to walk the walk. I was blaming my old habits. I was blaming the mid-semester test. In the end, I guess that's what happens when you let your pride get the best of you.
Now, I treat this chapter as a walk I had to take, for the flames of pride that once drove me forward has been extinguished. I felt useless again, and I've felt like that for years, for the fantasy in my mind was powerful. I had to tread the forbidden land; the land in which I never dared to venture, for I feared getting hurt, for I feared societal pressure.
This poem is arguably my most vivid out of the fifteen, for I've deserted the land long ago, and the land continued to rot during my absence.
By walking through the forbidden land, I've reformed my expectations on society.
I stopped writing about my Warman experiences after Chapter 6, for I've moved on. I'm here to revisit it after seven months (the competition ended on May).
It's kinda sad, because I really want to observe my exact reactions at that time.
Strolling through a forbidden land all alone, lost within a labyrinth of my own dusty footprints... Ain't this pretty similar to my "Wandering in the Sunset" chapter?
Yet, I made a mistake in the past, for I've sunk deeper into fissures of my heart; I kept searching for reasons and excuses to justify my clueless state, to justify everything that has happened.
But in a team where we had four more weeks to scrap an old, tiresome design and come up with a brand new one, self-justifications had no purpose. I had to change myself. I had to rise from the graves that bound my limbs.
The rise of me alone wasn't sufficient, for we were a team. We had to rise up and fight.
This is an important chapter, for I rose not only for myself, but for society.
A chapter named after the design competition; it symbolizes, well... war.
It was a battle against time, against the lack of manpower, against meaningless conflicts and meatless arguments. Our team fell and stood, fell and stood, for the new design was good, but it's accompanied by many foreign problems, many unsolved issues that have existed from the start, even more misconceptions and misunderstandings. The daily twelve-hour project schedule resumed; there were days where we even stayed overnight in campus.
As for me, I fucking loathe seeing my hopes and dreams crushed on a daily basis.
And that's exactly what happened.
Our daily goals for the robot may have been mostly accomplished, but issues related to what we've done arose far too many times to count. I couldn't handle it. I was on the verge of breaking.
The heart? Fuck the heart. There is no compassion in this world, for everything in life is temporary; all hopes and dreams belong in the fucking drain.
I've came face-to-face with my biggest fear, and to conquer it, I needed to set my pride aside and admire the light for once.
"There was a time, you told me that the body is a canvas, so I painted myself with light."
That's the first stanza of the poem. People expected too much of me. People didn't know what I was going through. People didn't know how messed up my head was.
But people didn't care.
To society, we are but blank canvases, waiting idly for them to paint their artistic visions on our bodies, for people are but tools to people. It was a wrongly-timed revelation, for I was in the midst of understanding the heart.
But the heart is dull when stress is involved. The heart is dark when they did not comprehend.
As the robot construction continued, I spiraled into a tornado of pure darkness, for my recent understanding of the heart contradicted the hypocritical hearts of others, for it seemed that although I was trying my best to be myself, it was as if people were communicating to a different version of me. But... why? I've forsaken my past personalities, and I've emerged as my life's own writer... right?
Why did I still feel so estranged?
At moments like that, the light above the tornado will always be the same; the bane of me, my infallible pride.
So I let everything be.
I was screwed on the inside, but my ability to wear convincing masks has assisted me in societal communication. I tried to make myself liked by many, and most of the time, it worked, but I did not feel right.
The darkness returned, and everything that I feared came back to me, for I've not subjugated them, for I've not fully accepted them.
For they are still everything that I feared.
I had a resolution. I had to start from scratch. I needed to rediscover myself.
This was supposed to be the final chapter in Worldly Desire; meant to conclude the Warman experience in a meaningful note, but my artistic creativity blooms during periods of high pressure, and five more chapters managed to sprout.
The last five sub-chapters are the most prominent in Worldly Desire, for each represents a certain resolution that still holds true as of this very day. Each symbolizes a unique theme and a specific portrayal of my idealized form of humanity.
If the first ten sub-chapters mainly spoke of the Warman experience, the last five guided me through everything after that.
One day, I decided to officially name our robot "Pink Flower". Nobody disagreed, so the name stuck.
In all honesty, ain't a pink flower just the most gorgeous thing?
Its elegance. Its beauty. Its unwavering spirit when embracing the mightiest evening winds, the scalding midday heat, the trampling of apathetic human beings. It may die, but it is far from extinct, for flowers are everywhere, and they will continue to bloom, even after the deadline of humanity.
Killings are cruel, but you almost never see anyone cry over the death of one flower, unless, of course, it's a rare breed. Yet, it's the death, of a flower. No death is insignificant, yet, we feel indifferent towards the death of a flower, for the flower, being insentient, feels no pain.
A flower has no friends to mourn for its death; a flower will never even know if it's the only one of its kind left on earth, for it senses nothing but stimuli to assist in its own survival. It's selfish, yet it did not have a choice; even if it did have a choice, it will never understand how to choose.
But a death is still a death. We ignore it because it's isolated, therefore it is an isolated event.
However, aren't our lives filled to the brim with events? And yet, as humans, we tend to link them all together and cram them into the same box. We agonize over the wilt of a single flower, but we ignore the rest in our heart-shaped garden, although they're blooming like never before.
Just because of a single flower, we forsake the rest, which are now thirsting for water, screaming for the sun, being shrouded by the darkness that we emit from the mourning of a single flower.
To focus so much on the negatives of life and ignoring the positives, that was one of the major causes of my downfall; it happened in the past, it happened again during the Warman competition.
Like a forest of positive energy, a devilish leech is sucking your blood.
Like a flower garden, there's a lot more to see than a death of a single flower.
Of course, nothing will change if we ignore the effects of our pride, for pride is the direct or indirect cause behind all sins in the world.
Yet both the excess and the lack of pride will constitute to our end. Pride is the hardest human aspect to balance, for it both an act of benevolence and a sin; it is both an offense and self-defense mechanism; it is what brings us to the world today, with technology and automation and the connection of all things worldly, yet it is also what keeps us savage and the cause of all pain and suffering in the world.
Pride justified our actions; pride is justified by our actions. When we're battered by the pride of others, we will rise due to our own pride; we will fight with and for our pride.
It is a cliche notion, having recurred in too many art forms, but many focus on only one side of pride; the good guys uphold their pride of saving the world, and the bad guys revel in their pride of corruption. It's never so simple.
Toss a so-called "good guy" into the other end of the spectrum and the very same "pride of justice" he/she once had will seamlessly cross the obnoxiously thin moral boundary. Think about it, aren't the worst criminals who they are because they believe that they're doing something right for the world?
Throughout my journey, the one thing that kept pushing me down was the human pride, for I kept worrying about opinions, for I feared being judged, being backstabbed; I feared meeting people who put on masks and pretended to be nice to me; I feared trust and I feared the words of the heart.
During the "Flames of a Sordid Winter" chapter, all the way to "Artistic Impression", I subconsciously developed a superiority complex that elevated me above anyone and everyone. To me, my mistakes were insignificant compared to my greatness, for I kept convincing myself that I had hidden abilities and talents that far surpassed any of my peers.
Nothing could go wrong, I thought, for I've survived the world of my fantasy; how hard could reality be?
But I knew that deep down, I was hiding a weak spirit, a faltering personality and a damaged confidence. This false sense of pride could never last, for I realized that in conflicts with people who were truly prideful, I lost.
I started to practice humility; I've began to wholeheartedly appreciate those who loved me and those who worried for me, but I feel that the balance of my pride is still not perfect, for the pride is everything.
And everything is due to our pride.
Throughout the Warman competition, I've bonded with many and befriended pretty much anyone who would look at me in the eyes. Though, ain't there something a little odd in my statement above?
I, who used to resent society, was going around socializing and immersing myself in the flood of others for twelve hours a day, weekends included.
I, who was struggling with the heart and battling my pride, to suddenly mingle around as if I was the happiest person alive, as if smiles were always my thing.
I, who swapped out my epidermis for skin-colored masks, who was wrestling with identity crisis, to suddenly gain complete assurance that I was being my truest self during the Warman competition period.
I thought I was free to "be myself", but in the end, I was subconsciously imposing what I deemed a "perfect lifestyle" onto myself. True, I was indeed free, but this freedom comes directly after the pride of being my life's own writer.
I did what a writer would; I've written a life for me to live through; a happy-go-lucky, sociable, enthusiastic young man who motivated his team and expressed an unshakable desire to succeed.
Haha. No.
Four full years of living in the dark taught me a lot about pretending to be carefree, and it reflected a lot in my personality; even till this day, I'm known as someone who rarely shies from using self-deprecation as a socialization tool. I do not mind my close friends verbally insulting me; in fact, I like it and encourage it, for I know that in the end, we all mean no ill will towards one another.
But by meeting so many new people during the course of the Warman competition, this carefree persona spreads all too easily among people I knew for weeks, to people I just met, to people I never met. It's as if society labelled me as an easygoing person who took no offence to anything.
Truth is, I do.
If one is not close enough to me, I take every single word and every single body gesture, even the subtlest ones, to heart. Although I've learned to ignore most of them and just live my life, that does not change the fact that words and gestures still affect me, albeit subconsciously.
During several of the nights when we slept over in campus, some people said that I couldn't work at night. No. There were far too many times where I dragged my revisions and report-writings all the way to the wee hours in the morning, sometimes till the clock strikes three or four, and I did not complain a bit.
It's not that I couldn't work, it's that I couldn't pretend at night.
Because of my own flaws and inexperience, society believed that my pretense was me, and wondered if my pretense couldn't work at night. Yes, they're right.
My pretense loved working on robot designs that kept failing and failing. My pretense loved chitchatting and making jokes and laugh all day. My pretense had no fears, no weaknesses.
But it was my fault, right?
I was the pretender. I was the mask. I was shielding my true self from the coldness of society.
When the competition was over, someone told me I looked a lot fresher. Why, yes, because I've learned a harsh lesson during the final weeks of the Warman experience.
Change occurs in the heart, not when you metaphorically write it out and read it through your eyes and brain; my heart wasn't socially comfortable yet, my heart wasn't fully ready to venture into some place I wasn't in control of, and my heart wasn't ready to deal with the expectations of others.
My heart wasn't ready for all that, and that's fine, because my heart will never be ready until I peel the pretense that I am who I am not.
It's cliche, but what isn't cliche nowadays?
14. End of the World
My resolution this year was to live a simple life. Soon, this desire was further defined as living my true life, for simplicity is complex when pretense smothers me. I sought to be free, but I didn't know how. I sought to be me, but I didn't know who.
The most significant lesson from "Artistic Impression" was the need to focus on the present. Whereas the flower metaphor in Chapter 11 was meant to illustrate the importance of not dwelling in negativity, this chapter personifies the essence of finality.
If tomorrow were the end of the world, will you worry about tomorrow?
Will you waste your time, waste your effort in doing whatever you're doing, waste your accompaniment with families and friends, to worry about tomorrow? The end of the world that occurs tomorrow can never be changed, so is it worth agonizing about something you can never fix?
In other words, if the destination is a universal constant, then divert all your attention to the journey; whereas the destination is a mere name, the journey is its meaning.
That's why unless everyone else does the same, I almost never take out my phone during conversations other than to check the time and/or receive calls. If I value our time together, I'll be damn sure to prioritize it.
When time becomes a quality, the past and future matters no more, for everything in our lives is narrowed down to the present, and only the present.
Hope makes us addicts to the future. Hope encourages the mindlessness of the present. Hope floods us with despair of the past.
When the end of the world comes, all hopes and dreams fade to black, and everything that society denied us of will go off track. Nothing matters anymore; it's just us and the present.
So appreciate the present.
15. Last
And when everything ends, nothing matters anymore.
Nothing is permanent, for we come and go.
And when we go, our desires will go.
Our memories will stay; may it forever last.
Worldly Desire: After (May - July)
Five resolutions for 2016; a far cry from the lonely "live a simple life" goal for 2015.
Yet, they aren't exactly new, for I've been actively and passively trying to achieve these ideal states ever since the Warman competition ended. But it's not easy.
After the Warman competition, two events occurred, both which delivered a huge slap to my face, for it made me realize that... whatever I was doing didn't work too well, for old issues continued to haunt me, and past mistakes were repeated.
I was fortunate, for my observations have allowed me to discover the virus before it propagated; eliminating the virus, however, was easier said than done.
I'll be elaborating on both events personally, if you know me well enough; though, I might be revealing them in a blogpost at the end of 2016.
But both events emphasized the need for me to peel off what remained of my pretense.
The second event, which occurred a week after the end of the competition, exposed me to one of my most morally-depraved, yet very human desire: addiction to control.
Having spent so long dwelling in my fantasies, it was only natural that I exerted control onto many aspects of my life, as the very same control was used to rule over the realms of my fantasy.
It wasn't easy, for the unhealthy desire to control lasted all the way till this very day, though (hopefully) not as severe as before.
I spent my semester break after the Warman competition going to places, catching up with old friends, hanging out with new pals. It was exhausting, but I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.
I thought that was the end of the "Worldly Desire" chapter, but it all started from a new pal's suggestion to organize a novel-writing competition between the both of us.
Instantly, I realized that there was a lot more to this chapter.
Worldly Desire: Our Land (July - November)
Second semester of the year was a lot different from the first, for we had no major projects; the only group assignments I had were lab reports, which didn't bother me that much, for I fully understood my capabilities and expectations on anything that wasn't building a stupid robot.
I started being consciously aware of my interactions with society, from my subtlest body language, to to the significance of my presence in social settings, not forgetting to constantly check whether or not I was masking myself.
Although I've begun writing the basis of my novel during the semester break, I pretty much shied away from it during this semester, for I was determined to focus on my studies.
But all engineering (reality) and no poetry (fantasy) makes me a fucking dull kid.
So, for the very first time, I actively delved into the fantasy of "Our Land", a fictional nation where things just... happened. It evolved from a rather barren place with hand-planted trees, to a vivid world with a lively main cast and a society that served no purpose other than observation material.
I slowly peppered this world with events, sprinkled some traumas and fears here and there, topped it off with a living, breathing past.
And then I realized that Our Land is a representation of everything I've observed thus far, and an amalgamation of all the various chapters of my life in words and poetry.
Worldly Desire: My Story (November - Present)
With five resolutions and a new world within me, I'll embrace the new year with a form of perseverance and consciousness that was never present in me, for with every passing day, I observe more about the ways of the world, and with every start of a new chapter, I realize a tiny bit more of the truths of the world, and, of course, myself.
I've always been subconsciously painting images in my mind, and all these have been metaphors of every part of me. Translating them into a worded language is much harder than it sounds... let's face the truth, the number of books I've read in my life can be counted with one hand.
It's really ironic, for I'm a writer, not a reader, which reflects all too well in my writing style; raw, unrefined, yet hopefully shrouded in enough mystique to pique the readers' interest.
I've planned to include fifteen chapters in the novel, five which have been completed, but only three were polished up, yet none of the three satisfied my expectations.
If life goes well, I hope to release these five chapters before I head to Australia on February 2016 to participate in a student exchange program for a semester. Though four months of living alone seems insignificant compared to four years of studies by some friends of mine, it may not be all that easy for me, as the lack of independence is one of my biggest flaws.
But hey, it'll be an interesting challenge.
An adventure, even, for how dare I speak so much about changing a fictional world when I don't know shit about the real world?
I look forward to life.
And I look forward to meeting myself.
Maybe sit back, drink some tea, and take time to appreciate the trivialities of life.
I, who used to resent society, was going around socializing and immersing myself in the flood of others for twelve hours a day, weekends included.
I, who was struggling with the heart and battling my pride, to suddenly mingle around as if I was the happiest person alive, as if smiles were always my thing.
I, who swapped out my epidermis for skin-colored masks, who was wrestling with identity crisis, to suddenly gain complete assurance that I was being my truest self during the Warman competition period.
I thought I was free to "be myself", but in the end, I was subconsciously imposing what I deemed a "perfect lifestyle" onto myself. True, I was indeed free, but this freedom comes directly after the pride of being my life's own writer.
I did what a writer would; I've written a life for me to live through; a happy-go-lucky, sociable, enthusiastic young man who motivated his team and expressed an unshakable desire to succeed.
Haha. No.
Four full years of living in the dark taught me a lot about pretending to be carefree, and it reflected a lot in my personality; even till this day, I'm known as someone who rarely shies from using self-deprecation as a socialization tool. I do not mind my close friends verbally insulting me; in fact, I like it and encourage it, for I know that in the end, we all mean no ill will towards one another.
But by meeting so many new people during the course of the Warman competition, this carefree persona spreads all too easily among people I knew for weeks, to people I just met, to people I never met. It's as if society labelled me as an easygoing person who took no offence to anything.
Truth is, I do.
If one is not close enough to me, I take every single word and every single body gesture, even the subtlest ones, to heart. Although I've learned to ignore most of them and just live my life, that does not change the fact that words and gestures still affect me, albeit subconsciously.
During several of the nights when we slept over in campus, some people said that I couldn't work at night. No. There were far too many times where I dragged my revisions and report-writings all the way to the wee hours in the morning, sometimes till the clock strikes three or four, and I did not complain a bit.
It's not that I couldn't work, it's that I couldn't pretend at night.
Because of my own flaws and inexperience, society believed that my pretense was me, and wondered if my pretense couldn't work at night. Yes, they're right.
My pretense loved working on robot designs that kept failing and failing. My pretense loved chitchatting and making jokes and laugh all day. My pretense had no fears, no weaknesses.
But it was my fault, right?
I was the pretender. I was the mask. I was shielding my true self from the coldness of society.
When the competition was over, someone told me I looked a lot fresher. Why, yes, because I've learned a harsh lesson during the final weeks of the Warman experience.
Change occurs in the heart, not when you metaphorically write it out and read it through your eyes and brain; my heart wasn't socially comfortable yet, my heart wasn't fully ready to venture into some place I wasn't in control of, and my heart wasn't ready to deal with the expectations of others.
My heart wasn't ready for all that, and that's fine, because my heart will never be ready until I peel the pretense that I am who I am not.
It's cliche, but what isn't cliche nowadays?
14. End of the World
My resolution this year was to live a simple life. Soon, this desire was further defined as living my true life, for simplicity is complex when pretense smothers me. I sought to be free, but I didn't know how. I sought to be me, but I didn't know who.
The most significant lesson from "Artistic Impression" was the need to focus on the present. Whereas the flower metaphor in Chapter 11 was meant to illustrate the importance of not dwelling in negativity, this chapter personifies the essence of finality.
If tomorrow were the end of the world, will you worry about tomorrow?
Will you waste your time, waste your effort in doing whatever you're doing, waste your accompaniment with families and friends, to worry about tomorrow? The end of the world that occurs tomorrow can never be changed, so is it worth agonizing about something you can never fix?
In other words, if the destination is a universal constant, then divert all your attention to the journey; whereas the destination is a mere name, the journey is its meaning.
That's why unless everyone else does the same, I almost never take out my phone during conversations other than to check the time and/or receive calls. If I value our time together, I'll be damn sure to prioritize it.
When time becomes a quality, the past and future matters no more, for everything in our lives is narrowed down to the present, and only the present.
Hope makes us addicts to the future. Hope encourages the mindlessness of the present. Hope floods us with despair of the past.
When the end of the world comes, all hopes and dreams fade to black, and everything that society denied us of will go off track. Nothing matters anymore; it's just us and the present.
So appreciate the present.
15. Last
And when everything ends, nothing matters anymore.
Nothing is permanent, for we come and go.
And when we go, our desires will go.
Our memories will stay; may it forever last.
Worldly Desire: After (May - July)
Five resolutions for 2016; a far cry from the lonely "live a simple life" goal for 2015.
Yet, they aren't exactly new, for I've been actively and passively trying to achieve these ideal states ever since the Warman competition ended. But it's not easy.
After the Warman competition, two events occurred, both which delivered a huge slap to my face, for it made me realize that... whatever I was doing didn't work too well, for old issues continued to haunt me, and past mistakes were repeated.
I was fortunate, for my observations have allowed me to discover the virus before it propagated; eliminating the virus, however, was easier said than done.
I'll be elaborating on both events personally, if you know me well enough; though, I might be revealing them in a blogpost at the end of 2016.
But both events emphasized the need for me to peel off what remained of my pretense.
The second event, which occurred a week after the end of the competition, exposed me to one of my most morally-depraved, yet very human desire: addiction to control.
Having spent so long dwelling in my fantasies, it was only natural that I exerted control onto many aspects of my life, as the very same control was used to rule over the realms of my fantasy.
It wasn't easy, for the unhealthy desire to control lasted all the way till this very day, though (hopefully) not as severe as before.
I spent my semester break after the Warman competition going to places, catching up with old friends, hanging out with new pals. It was exhausting, but I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.
I thought that was the end of the "Worldly Desire" chapter, but it all started from a new pal's suggestion to organize a novel-writing competition between the both of us.
Instantly, I realized that there was a lot more to this chapter.
Worldly Desire: Our Land (July - November)
Second semester of the year was a lot different from the first, for we had no major projects; the only group assignments I had were lab reports, which didn't bother me that much, for I fully understood my capabilities and expectations on anything that wasn't building a stupid robot.
I started being consciously aware of my interactions with society, from my subtlest body language, to to the significance of my presence in social settings, not forgetting to constantly check whether or not I was masking myself.
Although I've begun writing the basis of my novel during the semester break, I pretty much shied away from it during this semester, for I was determined to focus on my studies.
But all engineering (reality) and no poetry (fantasy) makes me a fucking dull kid.
So, for the very first time, I actively delved into the fantasy of "Our Land", a fictional nation where things just... happened. It evolved from a rather barren place with hand-planted trees, to a vivid world with a lively main cast and a society that served no purpose other than observation material.
I slowly peppered this world with events, sprinkled some traumas and fears here and there, topped it off with a living, breathing past.
And then I realized that Our Land is a representation of everything I've observed thus far, and an amalgamation of all the various chapters of my life in words and poetry.
Worldly Desire: My Story (November - Present)
With five resolutions and a new world within me, I'll embrace the new year with a form of perseverance and consciousness that was never present in me, for with every passing day, I observe more about the ways of the world, and with every start of a new chapter, I realize a tiny bit more of the truths of the world, and, of course, myself.
I've always been subconsciously painting images in my mind, and all these have been metaphors of every part of me. Translating them into a worded language is much harder than it sounds... let's face the truth, the number of books I've read in my life can be counted with one hand.
It's really ironic, for I'm a writer, not a reader, which reflects all too well in my writing style; raw, unrefined, yet hopefully shrouded in enough mystique to pique the readers' interest.
I've planned to include fifteen chapters in the novel, five which have been completed, but only three were polished up, yet none of the three satisfied my expectations.
If life goes well, I hope to release these five chapters before I head to Australia on February 2016 to participate in a student exchange program for a semester. Though four months of living alone seems insignificant compared to four years of studies by some friends of mine, it may not be all that easy for me, as the lack of independence is one of my biggest flaws.
But hey, it'll be an interesting challenge.
An adventure, even, for how dare I speak so much about changing a fictional world when I don't know shit about the real world?
I look forward to life.
And I look forward to meeting myself.
Maybe sit back, drink some tea, and take time to appreciate the trivialities of life.
