i read my diary
i have surpassed those thoughts
and fear of my yesteryears
fumbled, mumbled
my muddle now has a conclusion
crumbled, tumbled
i have ended my fight with what's right
i am ready to step into my next chapter,
at a new reclusive stage
where a certainty is achieved
i thought i was confident
but only about what i am not
more than what i am
how is not knowing one-self
confidence?
knowing what i am not
shows that i still
bother about people
but at least it is
a step closer to the possibilities of what we
should be
not can be.
ready to make unknown decisions that will change
my life
knowing more what i aint,
than what i am.
then what i am,
becomes very much a journey
than a dream
definition is futile
destination becomes death
this writing becomes life
to discover and come at peace with
the mind and the body unshaken by
pleasures, measures and pressures
expectations, aspirations and hallucinations
that the simple minded
focus on all their life
to death.
i am not confident.
Sunday
Saturday
actually why should i care
they hate my
guts. they think
i'm an asshole.
but they will
come crawling when i
make it big.
guts. they think
i'm an asshole.
but they will
come crawling when i
make it big.
Wednesday
On a writer's collective Identity and how it can/cannot exist.
I thoroughly enjoyed the healthy discussion in a poetry seminar with Madeleine Lee and Melissa de Villiers. It was a great eye opener to hear their views and skills on writing poetry and fiction. I said a few things that people didn’t agree with me. I was surprised by the strong reaction I got from the class as well as the host and guest poet. I was slightly agitated, but I wasn’t upset by it, because they had their point and also, I was freezing to death. So I didn’t pursue it in class. Here are my afterthoughts.
One question I brought up was whether they saw themselves as a Singapore poet (anyone who writes about the conditions of Singapore) or a Singaporean poet (poet living in Singapore who writes anything under the sun).
They see it as the same thing even after elaborating which I find unnerving because Madeleine is clearly a Singaporean poet who isn’t much of a Singapore poet. (She prefers to write about foreign lands.)
If you could remember, it was a prelude to my question on whether or not her Singaporean locality affects her foreign-based writings. This was not answered because they had a problem with my concern about the 'local' factor. But this sort of judgment is inevitable to analyze why the work exists and functions as it is. I was, to them, labeling them, identifying them as a certain type of writers and not addressing them as individuals.
Another thing I said was that I disagree with their idea that Singapore is boring or uninspiring. If I had their assignment to write about the city, I would have so much to write! As Singaporeans we are critical about their identity, because we think we don’t have one as yet. I said we seem to be reaction writers more than anything else. Personally, it's like an artistic expression of complaining, which we are stereotypically well known for. (Stereotypes are there because there are some truths in it.)
Then a girl with pink hair retorted with a fierce bellowing tone, NO I DISAGREE. DO YOU KNOW THE EXPRESSIONISTS ARTISTS SET UP THEIR OWN SALON BECAUSE THEY CONSIDERED THEIR WORKS AS ART AND THEIR WORKS BECAME ART EVENTUALLY SO MARGINALIZING IS WRONG? TERMINOLOGIES CANNOT DEFINE THE ART, JUST LIKE WRITING. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A SINGAPOREAN STYLE BLAH BLAH BLAH. And everybody agreed.
It's funny because I studied art history for two whole semesters. And from what I have learnt, more often than not artists identify with the like-minded (particularly the modern movements) as much as those who try not to and then there are those who are truly unique. It's funnier still, that she used segregatory terms like Expressionists and Realists which some detested during the time themselves. Expressionists versus Realists is no different from Woman poet versus Male poet and Local poet and Not Local Poet. (Humans are naturally drawn to order and symmetry even though it doesn’t exist in nature.)
The writer professor who also disagreed with me had earlier introduced Madeleine as the '... local female poet to have published four books!' which Dr Wong pointed out to her matter-of-factly that she was in a way segragating as well. But she somehow deflected this and didn’t address his question directly. Like a typical feminist.
Equal-rights, Streaming and Meritocracy, like it or not, society functions based on labeling and segregation and they - we - everyone relies on them subconsciously. One thing I learnt is that writers cannot face the painful truth that they are not a wandering lone pilgrim unshaken by the winds. Identity is something we want nothing to do with. We artists are better off as floating ideas and indefinable brilliance, but our written works fall into categories and it's these categories that matter more than we like it, outside of our bubble of thinking. It's delusional to reject the way things flow in the real world.
We can reject this and think everyone is different. (Being unique is also flawed because we're all unique, making us the same.) I am an art student and I feel this often but I feel that I need to recognize that that's how people recognize works. For example, I write a romance novel about phone sex that has sexual content in it. I can say it's different from anything. But it could arguably be erotica as much as it is Singapore fiction.
This brings me to my final point. Melissa was very curious why we are so hard up patriotic about all things Singaporean and I said it was because we have an identity crisis. It's because no one knows who we are and we become uncomfortable. We as we are, don’t like being seen as a copy or a plastic state. We are an educated society. We want to be known as something. We want something like the American Dream, Japanese Kawaii or Pinoy Pride. One thing's for sure, we agree that we have this identity crisis despite being so small and being independent for more than 40 years. Maybe this questioning of self IS our identity. Government is drilling into our heads that we are a global home. We are doubters, we are ironies and we are contradictions. Let me elaborate.
I am particularly familiar with Singaporean film. Let me explain with it. We have the 1940-60 P. Ramlee films of comedy and horror that our parents would have been familiar growing up with. Then there was the dark period of no films. After that, there was the 'Revival' in the 1990s when Eric Khoo made Mee Pok man and 12 Storeys that were melancholic depictions about living in Singapore's concrete jungle. This brought the world's attention and led to the golden age in 2000s where we see echoes of Eric Khoo's exposé in socially aware films by Jack Neo, Singapore Dreaming by Colin Goh, 4:30 by Royston Tan and recently, Sandcastles by Boo Junfeng and Invisible Children by Brian Gothong Tan. It's strangely scary and not wrong to say that a great number local poets, artists, writers and musicians express in works, the very same thing.
To conclude, I would dare say that Singaporean Fiction/Poetry/Film/Music exists. Not every Singaporean writer is a Singapore Writer. A Singaporean writer is not so much a genre or style on it's own, but rather are tied by circumstance. Singaporean Writings hold similarities that resonate from our structured upbringing. We are confused and lost with regards to what we are as a society. We look beyond our shores in envy, we are critical about policies and the rigidity, and we want to break free.
One question I brought up was whether they saw themselves as a Singapore poet (anyone who writes about the conditions of Singapore) or a Singaporean poet (poet living in Singapore who writes anything under the sun).
They see it as the same thing even after elaborating which I find unnerving because Madeleine is clearly a Singaporean poet who isn’t much of a Singapore poet. (She prefers to write about foreign lands.)
If you could remember, it was a prelude to my question on whether or not her Singaporean locality affects her foreign-based writings. This was not answered because they had a problem with my concern about the 'local' factor. But this sort of judgment is inevitable to analyze why the work exists and functions as it is. I was, to them, labeling them, identifying them as a certain type of writers and not addressing them as individuals.
Another thing I said was that I disagree with their idea that Singapore is boring or uninspiring. If I had their assignment to write about the city, I would have so much to write! As Singaporeans we are critical about their identity, because we think we don’t have one as yet. I said we seem to be reaction writers more than anything else. Personally, it's like an artistic expression of complaining, which we are stereotypically well known for. (Stereotypes are there because there are some truths in it.)
Then a girl with pink hair retorted with a fierce bellowing tone, NO I DISAGREE. DO YOU KNOW THE EXPRESSIONISTS ARTISTS SET UP THEIR OWN SALON BECAUSE THEY CONSIDERED THEIR WORKS AS ART AND THEIR WORKS BECAME ART EVENTUALLY SO MARGINALIZING IS WRONG? TERMINOLOGIES CANNOT DEFINE THE ART, JUST LIKE WRITING. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A SINGAPOREAN STYLE BLAH BLAH BLAH. And everybody agreed.
It's funny because I studied art history for two whole semesters. And from what I have learnt, more often than not artists identify with the like-minded (particularly the modern movements) as much as those who try not to and then there are those who are truly unique. It's funnier still, that she used segregatory terms like Expressionists and Realists which some detested during the time themselves. Expressionists versus Realists is no different from Woman poet versus Male poet and Local poet and Not Local Poet. (Humans are naturally drawn to order and symmetry even though it doesn’t exist in nature.)
The writer professor who also disagreed with me had earlier introduced Madeleine as the '... local female poet to have published four books!' which Dr Wong pointed out to her matter-of-factly that she was in a way segragating as well. But she somehow deflected this and didn’t address his question directly. Like a typical feminist.
Equal-rights, Streaming and Meritocracy, like it or not, society functions based on labeling and segregation and they - we - everyone relies on them subconsciously. One thing I learnt is that writers cannot face the painful truth that they are not a wandering lone pilgrim unshaken by the winds. Identity is something we want nothing to do with. We artists are better off as floating ideas and indefinable brilliance, but our written works fall into categories and it's these categories that matter more than we like it, outside of our bubble of thinking. It's delusional to reject the way things flow in the real world.
We can reject this and think everyone is different. (Being unique is also flawed because we're all unique, making us the same.) I am an art student and I feel this often but I feel that I need to recognize that that's how people recognize works. For example, I write a romance novel about phone sex that has sexual content in it. I can say it's different from anything. But it could arguably be erotica as much as it is Singapore fiction.
This brings me to my final point. Melissa was very curious why we are so hard up patriotic about all things Singaporean and I said it was because we have an identity crisis. It's because no one knows who we are and we become uncomfortable. We as we are, don’t like being seen as a copy or a plastic state. We are an educated society. We want to be known as something. We want something like the American Dream, Japanese Kawaii or Pinoy Pride. One thing's for sure, we agree that we have this identity crisis despite being so small and being independent for more than 40 years. Maybe this questioning of self IS our identity. Government is drilling into our heads that we are a global home. We are doubters, we are ironies and we are contradictions. Let me elaborate.
I am particularly familiar with Singaporean film. Let me explain with it. We have the 1940-60 P. Ramlee films of comedy and horror that our parents would have been familiar growing up with. Then there was the dark period of no films. After that, there was the 'Revival' in the 1990s when Eric Khoo made Mee Pok man and 12 Storeys that were melancholic depictions about living in Singapore's concrete jungle. This brought the world's attention and led to the golden age in 2000s where we see echoes of Eric Khoo's exposé in socially aware films by Jack Neo, Singapore Dreaming by Colin Goh, 4:30 by Royston Tan and recently, Sandcastles by Boo Junfeng and Invisible Children by Brian Gothong Tan. It's strangely scary and not wrong to say that a great number local poets, artists, writers and musicians express in works, the very same thing.
To conclude, I would dare say that Singaporean Fiction/Poetry/Film/Music exists. Not every Singaporean writer is a Singapore Writer. A Singaporean writer is not so much a genre or style on it's own, but rather are tied by circumstance. Singaporean Writings hold similarities that resonate from our structured upbringing. We are confused and lost with regards to what we are as a society. We look beyond our shores in envy, we are critical about policies and the rigidity, and we want to break free.
Sunday
A Claustramaniacal Cynic
Ah you nay sayers. I reckon
You won't understand. :(
No one understands yet.
I sound like a youth going through that phase. I sound like
Whatever you want to call it.
You won't understand. :(
Anyway
I don't expect people to understand me
Anyway, why do I base my stance against what you think?
You just don't see things the way I do.
even if you see or don't I'll be
I don't do people.
we just dont see eye to eye.
What others think don't match.
Somehow.
You won't understand. :(
No one understands yet.
I sound like a youth going through that phase. I sound like
Whatever you want to call it.
You won't understand. :(
Anyway
I don't expect people to understand me
anyway
I myself don't understand me. :(
Maybe I need to write more to find out what makes me so frustrated. Is it
god and his lack there of? (listens for answer...) Is it
social expectations? Is it
the way the world wants you to be something you are not? Is it
not being able to believe what you want to believe? Is it
I myself don't understand me. :(
Maybe I need to write more to find out what makes me so frustrated. Is it
god and his lack there of? (listens for answer...) Is it
social expectations? Is it
the way the world wants you to be something you are not? Is it
not being able to believe what you want to believe? Is it
I don't know.
I suffer because I am in this world.
I suffer because I am in this world.
the closer
i am
to
the world, the
more
i
feel
suffocated.
Oh you neigh sayers.
You won't understand. :(
Oh you neigh sayers.
You won't understand. :(
Anyway, why do I base my stance against what you think?
You just don't see things the way I do.
even if you see or don't I'll be
deemed as cocky and someone
who thinks he's always
right. oh dear mirror.
I can imagine how I look like to other people.
in omniscience I am mr misunderstood.
give me a chance to explain.
I can imagine how I look like to other people.
in omniscience I am mr misunderstood.
give me a chance to explain.
I don't do people.
we just dont see eye to eye.
What others think don't match.
Somehow.
-Maybe
I haven't met
a likeminded -
I think I feel so much better penning this.
I think I feel so much better penning this.
despite the lack of a resolution
I think I am happiest away from everything.
Fly far away.
Trying to do that one step at a time...
I think I am happiest away from everything.
I need to move out.
I need peace.
I need peace.
Fly far away.
Trying to do that one step at a time...
Monday
Saturday
dissapear.
havent updated for weeks and what i have within me outpours like a flood. I find myself moving further and further away. people seem to me now as a different spiecies with different wants and make different choices. its notjust silly differences like dreams and shit but really their entire mentality about core behavioural things. i am not in sync with the peoople who i thought i could find solace in and people whom i wanted to try to find solace in. i thought i could find friends in even the quietest, most off, weirdo but when i got to know them better they want nothing more than everything i dispise. in any of the cases, they got nothing but differences- core differences and things i cannot live with. hell, i cannot imagine myself being them without going crazy. maybe i just know what i want and they just know that they dont know what they want and assume i shouldnt know what i want because they dont themselves. In another realm, i would probably be more than i am now.
if only they are open and listen. if only i understood them cos they all seem to click with each other so well. i sit in the canteen and see people so happy talking about froth and shit. i die inside having to have lunch with them. they are just rocking their chair around, rubbing me off with the shit they say. there are things i enjoy talking but it depresses them. they get upset and say im the one talking shit. and these are so cool people. popular kids. 'acceptance', 'popular' 'cool' - i like. but are all shit things. social pushes, pressures all eating us up, killing us, making us move further away from ourselves. we are islands fending for ourselves. society makes us think we need one another to survive in this cruel world and we get devoured as a result of our frail preparedness to stick up for ourselves. the strongest people are people who walkt he unbeaten track, the track people dont like to walk.
people are very much a waste of time. the majpority of things they engage in i can observe for so long and appreciate but never take upon myself the appeal of the thing they do. they are also very heavily reliant on change and flows, while im settled for the destruction and inner solitude. its like i can never believe but desire. i can never live but try to understand. i can never be deluded but i stop i theorize. humans think i am menatlly deluded for one thing. but somehow everything i know make sense to me and when i am in my moment explaining my thoughts, things click (sometimes i falter because i dont explain well only.) . but people never understand these things. its as if i am talking shit and i wish i knew i was and i wish i knew why i think this way about god/myself/life in general but arent we all as clueless as each other? so when they dont know they say i say shit. but what do they know? behind their annoying scoffs and flippant dismissals of my claims to a point, do they really know somehting i dont? have they been through what i have beent hrough mentally. have they even for once, sit down and THINK and REFLECT on what they should be believing in rather than loving shit, body build, study or drink? its better sometimes to even not know and want to know than to not know and not know you dont know.
its just that i am very frustrated i cannot sync myself with friends. whenever i talk to them, i find myself stifling things i want to say. because when i speak the truths that i think i know, i sound cocky. and selfish. and i suddenly fall into the same category of that loser guy who boasts about his this and that. it's a diffeerent thing... hell i think i am selfish and cocky but what if i think i know i think i deserve to be selfish and cocky? what if my ego is big enough to fit what i rightly deserve to be? this body is too small for what i feel about the world. why am i human in the first place when i think this out of body out of mind things? can an average person be me? and ask these things here? how much does it take for a person to ask like this? anyone? can you? can i suppliment my belief wiht my life? well surely. wait and see me when im older and get my act together, will you see me as someone who definately aint someone you probably seen before. just wait for me to grow into a proper philosified man.
with that i choose to think that i can percieve things better than many others. i mean i 'see' things more clearly than many others. hence my eye for design and art. i am not an obnoxious docterinated person for one thing. i love listening to other people's part of the story. i love to observe their ways and methods. but for me, i dont believe everything i know. importantly, i dont throw away everything i know as well and i think i give everything a chance.
humans all seem to want one thing and it keeps them going and going. i am never settled but keep going and going. the thing is not a thing it's a journey. maybe my idea of life is a fully stretched journey to know rather than people's task-orientated one. i dont like to listen because to date, i have never found anyone who has told me something i applied in me that has helped me succeed. my successes are all choices i made myself or my conscious effort to retain. the closest is probably the advise to seek God but God is a cyclical event.
somehow i find myself getting increasingly disengaged with the world. i get very undependent on the currents and find my most peaceful when i am with myself and i. i find myself creating my own world, drawing back and looking down. i find myself more confident as a result. i remembered being attracted to Buddha's ascetic life. fuck this world. waiting to dissapear. waiting to get away. discover whats installed in my own way and in my own pleasure. the world owes me nothing and i dont owe the world anything. i owe myself myself. and i shall be myself for myself. this is one thing poeple dont get. because they care about someone ELSE. and that someone else be it a love or a person they feel for are what pulls their inner potential down. its as if they cannot support their life by themselves. they need a dad or a lover or a son to ensure they are meaningful to live. i find this so stupid. they function so differently. they think crazy. life isnt all about girls and finding love. love to me is a disposable desire. a musty moment. but definately spending time with anyone, a sole lover, a close friend or a partner are the craziest thought. are we all born to find a lover? humans are i'm not. i can be with people. im just not like people and i dont like people. im better off without people. and i will work to dissappear one day. 127hours. i respect that idea. wish i get trapped in some stone. i hionestly wouldnt cut my arm. i would find a way to kill myself if i couldnt find a way to live there.
all the social pressures making me who i aint. i will run away. i will find my peace somewhere away from you. somewhere noone can ever find me and forget about me.somewhere i am not human. somewhere i am just me.
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