He wished he knew.

And speaking of God, he wished he knew what that was too.

He didn’t understand how people woke up in the morning with the will to keep on going. What was so precious about this empty abyss that they were so afraid of saying goodbye to? Oh, he had so many questions. But you’d never hear him ask them. He wasn’t that type of person.

His type of person was the one that sits by your bedside as you slowly die, holding your hand, pretending to be strong for you when really, he was just jealous. He wanted to be in your position. He didn’t see how you deserved what he’d searched for so fervently. You don’t even want this. He, on the other hand, wanted – more than anything – the life sucked out of his fucking body. He wanted something to look forward to. But life had cursed him with health and a good genetic background.

“Fuck me,” he thought as he turned off the light. “Lets hope it rains tomorrow.”

They were banana this time, and Mr. Dinosaur had enjoyed picking out the bananas he would use at the grocery store, always the irregularly-shaped ones that no one else would normally even look at twice. Mr. Dinosaur loved those bananas the best because, in his opinion, every being deserved to be loved, no matter what first impressions may tell you – even bananas. People gave him strange looks as he placed each bruised, browned and tiny banana into his basket, but Mr. Dinosaur knew better than to worry about what they were thinking or why their stares hurt so much. He was going to make cupcakes.

Mr. Dinosaur feels like crying, but there are too many walls in this room. It made him uneasy. He shuffled his feet and twiddled his thumbs as he rolled his eyes around. This was a most peculiar room, but Mr. Dinosaur couldn’t quite figure out why.

Who the fuck is Mr. Dinosaur? The little voice didn’t know, and neither did I, but we were staring at him now and he was staring at us, and it all seemed kind of familiar.

1. Not even funny
   What exactly does it mean when someone makes a statement similar to “I hate orange juice so much, it’s not even funny”? Was it funny to begin with? When did this change? Why did it change? Why was I not aware of its comedic status?
2. I know, right?
   If I were to surgically replace the words in “I know, right?” with other words that mean the same thing, I would get something like “I understand, do you agree?” Is it a question? Because even if it is a rhetorical one that may not need an answer, what is it suggesting? That you know? But how am I supposed to know if you know? And why are you asking me for reassurance?
3. Chill
   What about this sentence makes it grammatically correct: “I am so chill right now.”? How exactly one can be chill when “chill” is a verb? Just because Jason Mraz thinks it can be used as an adjective, that doesn’t make it okay. Please use a suitable alternative like “relaxed” or “happy” or whatever it is you’re feeling, just don’t use a verb like “chill” because if we keep doing that, the earlier statement is equivalent to saying “I am so squash right now.”

But maybe I am just an old fart who doesn’t know how to “get with the times”, forever stuck in the olden days when grammar actually made sense. I suppose I should just stick to knitting and sipping tea in the rocking chair I so lovingly placed by the window of my retirement home room all those years ago. *Knits.

I may have mentioned this before, but I hate being alone. The idea of dying alone, failing alone, suffering alone, succeeding alone, partying alone, living alone and just generally, being alone is quite frightening. Although you could argue, it is nice to have some time to spend with only yourself as company, nothing can beat having a good friend hold your hand as you walk the lonely road of life, facing things you would hate to even imagine facing alone.

I’ve just (Well, not really) finished what you’d call “High School” (I don’t actually know what you’d call it) having completed the IB, and so I suppose it’s only natural to have most of the people I know talk about how excited they are about going to university and starting their independent trek into society as so-called “young adults”, as if they haven’t at all, for once, come across the idea of how completely and utterly and absolutely terrifying it is.

It is fucking scary to be abruptly taken out of this nice, cosy environment you’ve happily and dutifully decorated with your friends and family and basically, everything you’ve grown to know the world to be, and just as suddenly, thrown into an unfamiliar, harsh and possibly unkind unknown. We are (At least, I am) afraid of the unknown. By definition (of “the unknown”), we are faced with a situation of which we don’t actually know anything about. Sure, we’ve heard a few stories, seen a couple of pictures and maybe even visited the area, but as human beings, we know that basing all of our preparations for this great, mysterious journey on unreliable information would just be stupid and a bit short-sighted. I mean, it’s one thing to simply witness an event, and it’s a completely different thing to actually be there, enduring it, absorbing it and living it. We cannot truly grasp the essence of it until we’ve experienced it ourselves. And yet, it’s all we have, and all we can do until we’re given that inevitable and seemingly violent shove into the cold and dark streets of adulthood.

It’s up to you (And if you’re lucky, the help from a few kind on-lookers) to feed yourself, do your own laundry, make your own new friends, take care of your own hygiene, make sure you don’t get sick, decide when you want to get married, maintain good relationships with people you love, know when you make mistakes, keep out of trouble, choose how you will obtain financial support (To name a few). Everything that you’ve left other people to do for you all these years – all the responsibilities and important decisions, they’re now left to you. The thought of that could be exhilarating and even liberating, yes, but who will stop you from making all the wrong decisions? Who will keep you from turning into the kind of person you never wanted to become?

I don’t like being alone, and if growing up, moving on with life, starting a new chapter means I have to do it in solitude, then I don’t want to grow up.

I think I’d much rather prefer to be a coward and run away from my troubles by grabbing Peter Pan’s hand and flying off to Neverland where I can run about carelessly forever as an eighteen-year-old girl.

At least until I’m ready, because for the time being, to think about going through that much change alone is quite simply, and I repeat, terrifying.

And so, to those of you who have battled this on-flow of change and alterations head-on, I salute you for your bravery. And to those who have actually lived to tell the tale, I am on bended knee, forever humbled by you and the wise ways with which you have survived what could be called the holocaust of stability.

Of course, knowing how different everyone is, none of this could even remotely relate to any of you. In which case, I apologise for having been selfish by only talking about myself and my pitiful attempts at grasping onto youth and dependency for as long as possible (Hopefully, that’s forever). :]

You know what’s horrible? When there’s no right way of doing something, so all choices you make have a bad side effect; both choices either right or wrong, but you’d have to look from the opposing point of view to understand why it seems right and it sounds like I’m repeating all my words so I can’t explain it properly so I hope you get it already.

Case study: The old lady who sells vegetables around bandar.

You may or may not know that there is a poor old lady who walks around bandar with a basket full of vegetables. She goes up to the traffic light near CHMS and as soon as the traffic light turns red, she tries to persuade drivers into buying things from her. It’s actually really sad to see the amount of people who turn their heads, roll up their windows, turn up the music and lock their doors when they see her coming. And I wonder what makes them do it. Is it because they don’t want any vegetables? Or they don’t want to give away money? Or they don’t want to be bothered by an old lady?

If you look at it the predictable way, buying some vegetables from this old lady, would let you feel good about yourself, knowing that you did the right thing, and perhaps helped this lady live a little longer. You understand that all she wants is the chance to live, and you’re glad you can do that much, which is why you think those people who shun off the old lady are cold and heartless.

But then again, have you ever bothered to look at things from the opposing point of view? Doing so brings a new kind of understanding and you start to question what you thought was right. See, if you give up a dollar to buy a bunch of vegetables, you’d be building up false hope and impressions for this here lady. You’d make her believe that there are more people like you; people who are willing to purchase some items, when in fact, there may not be.

And seeing as she does her business in the middle of the road, I have to say, it’s not the safest thing to do. She actually ignores all the people she walks by on her way to the traffic light, which implies that all she wants to do is reach this traffic light, but that may be because she walks with her eyes lowered and her paces slow and weak. So, knowing that this way of trade is dangerous and that she cannot keep doing this for her own safety, if you gave her money in exchange for a vegetable of your choice, you’d be making her believe that this is what she’s meant to do; that if she continues to do this, business will come, when actually, it may not.

The thing is, I don’t know of her business anywhere else. The traffic light is the only place I’ve seen her holding up vegetables in front of car windows, in hopes of a few dollars. If you know who I’m talking about and you’ve seen her at places other than the traffic light or walking somewhere ekse, performing her tasks somewhere other than a road, then let me know.

With all that said, when decisions are too hard, and choices don’t come easy, and you just aren’t mature enough to take care of things yourself, there is always the option to just ignore all of this and use other routes to escape having to face the possible complication because, as they say, ignorance is bliss.

What the hell are you supposed to do when your choices are equally balanced out as good and bad; when you know your actions could affect another person’s life? It’s things like this that make life that much more harder to handle.

I was thinking today, as one often does when he/she is left alone for long enough, and I came across a horrible reality that I’d come across many a time before but never thought of writing it down simply because it’s part of the reason for my cynical mind, and I didn’t want to upset anyone.

But the time has come for me to make havoc once again, so here I go. I’m spitting it out, with no consideration for my readers, with no thought of sugar-coating it in any untruths and fairytales. This is cold, hard “truth” (Either that, or I’m even more pessimistic than I thought and everything I say in this article is therefore only true in my mind).

People leave.

In one way or another; be it death, travel, relationships or just plain loss of contact that drive us apart, people leave. And it’s a terrible thing to think about, but it happens, and one day, if you’ve lived in a cage with your family your whole life and have not had the chance to experience this for yourself, someone is going to leave you. Yes, you.

Don’t get me wrong, some people stay for the longest amount of time, and those people who stay are wonderful and therefore make your life journey that much more wonderful, however, the fact of the matter is, some people leave. Looks like I’m starting to repeat, so I should get to the next paragraph now.

There were times (notice the past tense) I’d wonder why we even bother to make friends. Why we put the in effort to meet new people and spend that tiny bit of our lives with them, be it in high school, for a few days or even a couple of hours.

Why? Because it lets us live easier knowing there are nice people out there worth meeting? Because they filled our hearts with happiness like no other had done before? Because it just makes you feel good about yourself? Because there’s no reason not to?

Doesn’t your newfound joy crumble when you have to say goodbye, with or without warning? Isn’t it painful every time you shake hands with a person for the first time knowing, no matter how much this person will influence the way you live your life, you’re eventually going to have to part (And that’s not even including those people you meet and instantly/grow to passionately hate)?

I’m a depressingly pathetic person; I can’t deal with that kind of reality. I don’t do well with ‘Good-bye’s and funerals. And it’s sad, really, because I used to be prepared for these kind of things. I used to think of it as part of life; growing up; learning. Maybe I never realised departure’s true sorrow because I had no real people to cry over, or maybe it was religion and, from what I was taught, the hope that there will be a next life where everyone “good” will come together again and live (once again) happily. Whatever the reason, that reason is now void.

I used to fear dying without anyone knowing. I didn’t like the idea of someone finding my dead body after 5 years, not knowing whose body it is. That fear is closely linked to this other phobia I had; dying without everybody I know and/or who know me knowing. I had this plan in my head that before I died, I’d tell someone to let everyone who ever knew me know that I’d passed away. Just because I couldn’t stand the thought of people asking, “Hey, have you seen Sue-Anne lately? How’s she doing?” only to get the reply, “Oh, she’s dead.”

Horrible!

Or maybe it doesn’t matter. Does it matter? What matters?

It’s sad how people are forgotten.

How many of you actually know things about your great grandparents? What was their full name? What was their favourite colour? How many brothers and sisters did they have? When was their birthday?

My guess is: not a lot, if any.

It’s sad how the second generation from now will know nothing about you other than the fact that you’re related to them somehow; how the third will know even less. Is that what you want to be? Some person’s great grandparent who nobody knows the life of? Nothing but a name and date on a family tree? A number in a population count? A face in a yearbook?

Forgotten?

Nobody will know about the time you lay next to your overdosed girlfriend/boyfriend, holding their hand and crying your eyes out until you fell asleep, wishing they’d be okay. Nobody will know about the time you stood up to the biggest jerk in school even though you were as scared as hell. Nobody will know about all your horrible stepfathers that beat your mother day after day just because he could. Nobody will know about the great things you’ve done simply because they weren’t important enough for society.

You will be forgotten.

I read a comic a few years ago. It was talking about how only the interesting people who do interesting things are remembered by a fairly decent amount of people. I sure as hell am not interesting, so, why bother living when nothing we do now matters to anyone but ourselves or possibly a few others? Even worse when it doesn’t even matter to us.

It made me want to do something that will change the world. I longed to become that person who could make people better themselves. I wanted to be interesting. I wanted to do interesting things. I wanted to be remembered. I listened to Mahatma Ghandi; I wanted to “be the change I wanted to see in the world”.

Then, I realized that there are so many other people out there just like me, if not better than. What makes me any more significant than them?

Nothing.

Like I said… sad.

Having said that, however, there are lots of people who have done great things that remain forgotten. Nobody knows who they are. And that’s why biographies are written; to remind people. But don’t get discouraged. I said before that there is nothing that makes me any better than the “so many people just like me.” It also means that you are like these people, and you have just as much power to change society as the next person; you could be the one who earns the right to be remembered. There is no such thing as equal results; only equal opportunity. Everyone has the same chance; it’s up to you how you use yours.

Do you want to be remembered?

What’s stopping you?

Do something amazing.

We sit here so obliviously. Breathing, just like everyone else, and worrying about the same minuscule things. Does my hair look alright? What if I fail my exams? Why isn’t my chicken rice ready yet? Does this have to be so expensive? Why is the internet so slow?

People say it all the time. It’s in movies; song lyrics; poetry. So, why do we never listen?

Or is it just me?

It is said in a variety of ways – live life to the fullest; live each day as if it were your last; life is short. But no matter what exact words are said, they all come to the same conclusion (That conclusion, I hope you can come to by yourself soon enough).

And life… Well, it’s annoying.

Why does it have to be so fragile? It irritates me knowing that life can be taken away so easily without even the thought of a second chance; that I could very likely die tomorrow. In fact, any one of you could.

I know, people die every day. And we’ve probably thought about it once or twice, but the thought got brushed away as soon as something more “interesting” captured our attention; like that new XBox game, for example. Or the latest SonyEricsson.

Sure, it’s there at the back of our minds somewhere, but really, do we actually understand what death is? Do you realise that once a person’s gone, they’re not going to come back? That you’ll never get to see her smile again, hear her laugh, or tell her how much she means to you? Or maybe you’ll spend your moping days wishing you’d have spent more time getting to know her better, only to be further let down with the knowledge that you won’t be able to anymore. You can only regret.

I’m sorry; I, myself, have just been reacquainted with our good friend Death, and I was ashamed when I found myself acting as if I’d thought it would never come. Well, it did. And the truth is, the Grim Reaper is going to pass by many more times. Every person you meet, or see, (or smell, if you’re into that) whether you know them or not, is going to be given a visit.

So, I come to you bearing one question. Are you ready? Ready to accept that there are worse things to worry about than looking good, or getting into a good college?

‘Cause I wasn’t. And look what happened to me.

And sure, maybe there is a great, magical, wonderful place people go when they die. It’s just hard to recognise when we spend so much time living in today’s world.

So, life is tough. It really sucks sometimes, and your frustration/depression level can get so high you want to scream in life’s face and just tell it to back off, and though it can get to the point where you’re not sure if anything will help or not, I can only say, “Life is fragile,” and hope you (and me) know/remember what to do with that information.

How do people forget?

:[ He was only 16.

“Life is both sad and solemn. We are let into a wonderful world, we meet one another here, greet each other—and wander together for a brief moment. Then we lose each other and disappear as suddenly and unreasonably as we arrived.” – Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder

I will jump right in to it then.

I guess the main point I want to make is that I realise I hate Rant-filled empty box because it is hosted by Friendster, and I hate that I have to log onto Friendster (A social network website I gave up on a long time ago) to publish a post, and that was greatly reflected in the frequency of my posts (None). The only reason I didn’t get rid of it sooner is because I liked what I had to say, and I didn’t really have an outlet for that because Broken Smile is more personal messages, and this thing here is just writings.

So, anyway, this website thing you are currently reading will now include more serious articles I write. But before any of that can happen, I shall publish the few pieces that were previously on Rant-filled empty box and still reflect how I feel, because emotions are cool that way.

That is basically all I wanted to say. I didn’t want to alarm you when you started seeing unusual posts written by a 15-year-old me. Oh, look at that, 200 words.

Oh, snake, why can you not keep still, must you twist and turn like so?
But yes, it is your maker’s will, for you have sinned, you have let go.