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Monday, 19 October 2009

Fuck it all.

Humans are never happy with what they have. I'm a sad sentiment of the fact.

Whilst I was in England, I complained about how expensive things were. I complained about how cold, dreary and wet the weather was. How I cherished every moment when I was back home for the holidays, counting down the days when it was finally time for me to graduate and move back home.

Now that I'm back here, I wish I was back in England. Being directly exposed to the foreign media, politics and economic scene, I had naive ideas on how it was going to be like once I returned home. It didn't occur to me that I would be returning home with a degree in Economics and Politics, making me even more aware and opinionated about this country's governance.

And I've come to a conclusion that I hate it here.

Don't get me wrong, I love Malaysia, I love the food, I love my friends and I love my family.

What I hate is the government's warped priorities and hypocritical behaviour.

But what I truly hate right now is the fucking import taxes put on foreign cars. As you may have guessed, I am in need of a car and I've realized that I can't even afford a good SECOND HAND car without coughing up AT LEAST 50K!!!

Either that of be forced to settle with a Proton or Perodua.

Behold my choices. 50K for a brand new Myvi or a 2004 Honda City.

I'm even angrier because now I'm forced to take that god forsaken graduate job in that fucking cubicle until I'm too old to be able to afford otherwise. Being forced to work in an industry I can't stand just to afford my own crappy car. I can't even afford to take some time off to do what I want before I start a graduate job because my mom can't afford another car. I have to buy my own car, to go to work for a job I don't even like.

To add to the insult, I'll be forced to continue with this 4 months contract for the work experience because let's face it, who the fuck wants to hire a graduate with a pass degree?

I hate my life. I hate it. I hate it so much.

I wished I had not known better rather then know what I'm missing. Ignorance truly is bliss. Show a little girl the wonders of the world to then toss her into a painful reality of sickness and greed.

And my father? My STEP father? He's sitting comfortably in Manila, in his rich daughter's house with multiple maids, probably talking to his soon to be dato' son whilst his wife worries about finances.

Life's terrific. Absolutely fantastic.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Lately, I've been finding myself angry at everyone and everything under the sun...and then some.

I threw heavy hardcover books into the wall, slammed doors, drove like a maniac on the road, screamed, cried, and very nearly wanted to pick up the blade and start slicing my skin just to calm down. I now know the meaning of shaking in rage. So much pent up rage cursing through my body.

What pissed me off even more is that I know much of my anger is irrational.

I know I should be grateful for what I have. There are so many people less fortunate. I KNOW! I KNOW DAMMIT! I KNOW!!!

It still doesn't stem my anger. Everything I touch, everything from the glasses sitting on the bridge of my nose, to the laptop I'm typing on, to the glass of water on the table, to the chair I'm sitting on...EVERYTHING within my reach, I want to destroy. I nearly threw the telly remote into the wall last night. The only thing holding me back is money. Let's face it, I don't have the fucking money to repair things I destroy. The repercussion of one's manic reactions.

I very nearly drove into the car in front of me just so I can get my mind of things.

It's just cruel to be brought so close to things yet held back because of pride, because of greed, because of poverty, because of education, because of racism, because of love even!

LIES! EVERYTHING! EVERYONE LIES! EVERYONE!

Everything that people have told me since I was a child have been nothing but sugar coated LIES.

Wednesday, 08 July 2009

I am rather proud to say that I am a rational person. The choices I have made in life are made because they were the more rational choices.

Rather, decisions were made because I had always thought they were the safest route. They were the logical steps to a respectable, 9-5 job with health benefits and a pension.

It was not until recently that I have discovered that my rationality is warped.

I ended up looking at the world too realistically. Everything had to be logical. Everything had to be rational. Everything was an equation, with statistical evidence, with no room for creativity, no room to be daring, to be different, no room to be oneself. If one wanted to be different, one had to be talented and willing to sacrifice.

I had no talent.

I did not dare sacrifice.

I did not dare to be too different. The many times I chose to stand out in the crowd, to work towards a goal, to be chosen, only led to regrets, failure, and pain. I was never good enough.

So, I followed the crowd. True, my choices were always slightly more 'daring' but ultimately, I was well on the way to become part of the white-collared crowd. I thought it was the rational choice. The safe choice.

To a point, it really is.

I just hadn't thought of what it would do to me. Getting that much closer to that 9-5 job gripped me with a fear I never thought existed. To be trapped in a world which was dominated by money and greed.

I became two people. The Farah most people knew; the calm, collected, smart, educated, privileged Farah.

And the Farah who battled severe depression, constantly being reminded that nothing happens without money. Constantly haunted by future debts, restricted in life by money, repressed by money. Passion destroyed in the pursuit of securing that 9-5.

I ultimately forgot the point in living and trapped myself in this world of glass buildings, cubicles, a computer screen and paychecks.

I am rational, I KNOW the world revolves around money. Nothing destroys spirit like poverty. I KNOW. But the thought of not having any other choice, depressed me. Tore me. Made me want to just get life over with. I hated what economics thought me. I hated what politics taught me. I hated that I was spending money that wasn't even mine, to study subjects that I hated.

I hated my life.

I was constantly surrounded by people who actually wanted that 9-5 job in that posh glass building. I followed the crowd. I became lonely.

And I killed a part of me.

And now...

Now I graduate.

I will not attend graduation.

I do not know what will happen to me now. I see no future. I gave up on ambition a long time ago.

Fat. Ugly. Stupid. Trapped. Alone.

I am.

Saturday, 06 December 2008

Lost in time

PP has always been there for me, no matter the circumstance. Be I angry, be I sad, be I depressed, the one thing I could always count on to always be the same was PP.

But as I mended her poor old battered body, I realized that PP was far from the same soft toy my mother bought for me at Toys r Us so very very long ago. However, regardless of her faded colour, her now mostly white eyes, her disfigured face (her barely looks like a cat anymore), the multiple stitches in her tail (and now on her side and one of her ears), at 22, I still sleep with her in my arms at night. She's still the one I hug tightly to my chest as I cry and the one I hold on to dear life when I feel like my world was simply not worth living anymore. I ignore the new, prettier soft toys as my hand stretches out for my dear old PP.

Granted, I no longer take her everywhere I go. I no longer make sure I have a small space reserved in my bag when I'm packing for short trips (or long self torture of OBS). She's left at home (be it in my room in Shah Alam, or my room in Lancaster), tucked safely between the pillows and duvet.

It suddenly made me wonder whatever happened to the little curly haired girl who used to have avid conversations with her soft toys on sunny Saturday afternoons. Being an only child, my soft toys were my closest companions. They never annoyed me, they never fought back, they never mocked. They were just there, actors of a huge world in the mind of a little girl with an overactive imagination.

I slowly got tired of my Barbie dolls and many of my other plush toys are now tucked away in a closet, lined up behind a glass window, many of the smaller beanies now just decorations about my room. They all had names at one time but the only name I still remember is PP.

I wish I could return to the days where I didn't have to worry about results, didn't have to worry about my CV, didn't have to ponder about grad school, didn't have worry about graduate jobs, didn't become bothered by emotional fancies, didn't have a care in the world. I could just go into my room, hug PP, fall asleep and wake up content.

I'm 22 and life sure isn't letting me forget it.