I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to choose anymore. I can't cut my ties with the past. I can't move forward. Fear leaves me nothing but uncertainty and denial. I know what I have to do, always have. But a large part of me always lives in the past and refuses to budge. I try to get her to join me, just leave it behind, it is no good for anyone now. I need all my strength. Please come to me. Please.

I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to choose anymore. I can't cut my ties with the past. I can't move forward. Fear leaves me nothing but uncertainty and denial. I know what I have to do, always have. But a large part of me always lives in the past and refuses to budge. I try to get her to join me, just leave it behind, it is no good for anyone now. I need all my strength. Please come to me. Please.

It's been a tough year, mixed with hardship as well as joy. I am not confused anymore because I have made up my mind what to do. But to make it work, I have to lie.Guilt is a funny thing. They are the people I care about but they are also the people I protect myself from. I try not to think about it so much because the guilt will eat me up and break me. I don't to break. I am so close. Lying requires so much work. But what needs to be done has to be done. It has to work. It just has to.

Some said liar, with or without good intent, thinks he is more superior than the people he lies to. I have given a lot of thoughts to my intention to lie, what it would achieve, what I would sacrifice, etc. I guess all of this don't matter if I am busted. People get hurt and I will get hurt.

So, the moral of the story is, don't get busted. Plan, plan, plan!!

I am moving backwards by not moving forward. I am moving backwards when everyone else is moving forward. I want to move too but where can I go? Where do I want to go? Everybody asks me to join them but I am still walking along the street, trying to pick my favourite store. Do I have a favourite store? Or am I just too afraid to walk in? To be left behind is one of the worst feelings in the world. Change is the scariest thing in the world.

If I were a boy, I would have stronger shoulders.

If I were a boy, I would not notice my neck.

If I were a boy, I would have kinder shoes.

If I were a boy, I would not have a cellphone.

If I were a boy, I would know how to clean up.

If I were a boy, I would be more careful with calculation.

If I were a boy, I would take a shortcut.

If I were a boy, I would know how to paint.

If only "If I were a boy," sounds less intangible.

Today I nearly made an irreversible mistake. It's a mistake of the size I-would-regret-for-the-rest-of-my-life. But I think (actually firmly believe) that my last minute prayer to Goddess of Mercy saved me. I was looking for a distraction, a quick fix, to a problem that I refuse to acknowledge. I wanted to pretend that it never existed, buried it somewhere so that I didn't have to deal with it. If I pretended hard enough, I wish it would eventually go away. Of course, it doesn't. I wonder why it took me so long to realize it. Anyway, the usual screw-ups and stumbling (as a result of divine intervention) that seem to happen so frequently to the distraction turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I am no longer confused, still sad, but I will survive. Someday, something good is gonna happen to me. And when it does, I would know I deserve it.

New new year resolution - distant myself from all the dirty face firemen.

Birthday was just over. I am another year older. ~Sigh~ This is bad...
I never really look forward to my birthday. For one, my parents never celebrated our birthdays when we were kids - busy to make ends meet. Birthday celebration was too much a luxury. And gradually it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Whereas friends are usually busy with new year celebration and forget about it. I used to be pissed. But not this year. I guess I am a little wiser after all.
Looking back, last year wasn't really a good year for me. I did went for an unforgettable trip to Mongolia. But when I came back, things got rough at work. So afterwards, I left the company in really bad shape. But blessing in disguise is a funny thing. Because of the depressing period, I got to know a friend who was 10,000 miles away and yet felt so close. Nonetheless, when something reached its peak, it could only go down. A roller coaster ride that proved to be too much for me. Stress can really wear people out. Never good at coping with pressure. In fact, one of my new year resolution is to quit my current job and have a 3-month break (but just had a reality check with my friend and she asked me to wake up, not possible, not until I pay back my loan).
I have also looked at my relationships with people around me. Some makes me feel good, some bad; sometimes good, sometimes really bad. I can't help but wonder: is it my fault when things turn bad? Or am I just the clean face fireman? I don't know. Hopefully I can find the answer this year.
Anyway, japanese call girls older than 25 christmas cakes and I am official one now. ~Sigh~ (I told myself I was going to be absolutely cool about ageing. That proves to be difficult.) I was so dreaded about this birthday so I bought an Estee Lauder perfume to calm myself (:P). Now I know what is my no. 1 priority this year - no more retail therapy; no more impulsive purchase!!!

Two firemen were sent on a mission to put out a fire in the forest. After they put out the fire, one of the firemen got his face really dirty but the other one did not. Then, they came to a stream. Question: who will wash his face?

The answer is the one with clean face because he looked at the dirty face fireman and he thought his face was dirty too. The dirty face fireman, on the contrary, wouldn't wash his face. Same logic applies: he looked at the clean face fireman and thought his face was clean. Have you got the answer right?

Like any girl, fashion is larger than life. I devote a considerable amount of my time thinking about what I like, what to wear, whether it is affordable or too good to be true.

The first garment that I bought for myself was a simple tee shirt. It was dark blue with the word "JEANS" printed at the front. I picked it because the colour went with anything. For a long period of time, I picked clothes that are easy to match, and inevitably most of them are black and plain. But then I reached adolescence and style became important. I want to express myself through dressing. I want to have an attitude. That was when I bought a lot of fashionable (at least I thought so then, but now arghh...) and colourful garments.

But, always, I am looking for something lasting, something that is timeless, something that I will find pretty or won't get tired for a long long time, something that goes with anything and yet still look pretty and stylish. The problem with this is that I, like everyone, change my mind, almost as frequent as I change my clothes.

To me, jeans are timeless, maybe not in a classy way but jeans can be fashionable and comfortable and always lasting. But my luck with jeans is bad. My first few jeans were pass-overs from my sisters and within a very short period of time, I would find them totally hideous. My last pair was cool but unfortunately or fortunately, I lost a couple of pounds and now it is one size larger. I guess it is not meant to be. Now, I don't have any jeans. Partly because I can't wear them to work and partly because, like I said, bad luck, I can't find a pair of jeans (within my budget) that speaks to me.

I am wearing a lot of office wear these days, suits, skirts. But the thing is I grow up in pants. Though I am getting used to it, office wear is never my favourite. I have to wear them because of my job. And I wonder, shall I be satisfied with practical clothes that I neither like nor dislike?

Every girl loves gown. When a girl finds the gown of her dream, she would be totally elated and would practically worship the gown. She will try on it or imagine trying on it and how everyone will find her the most stunning girl in the room. I found an evening gown, totally infatuated. It was beautiful but sadly uncomfortable. I tried and tried, hopefully somehow, magically, the discomfort would just go away. But I couldn't live in denial for long. I woke to the idea, put down the dress and walk away. It was a sad moment. But I had to do what I had to do. It was mesmerizing at first, but it didn't last.

Now, I am ordering something from catalogue. It's a garment I saw in a picture and I thought it would look pretty on me. It is still in shipment and I hope it would reach me safely. I don't know how it would really look on me but I hope I, at least, get to try on it. And when I really do, I hope it would fit and wouldn't be buried in my closet with my old jeans.

But frankly, sometimes, I am lost with what I want. I am definitely not the evening gown gal and I won't settle for a plain tee-shirt. I can't live wearing suits that I have no feelings for. I think I am still the jeans girl. I am looking for one piece, one piece that is timeless, comfortable, may not be perfect but I will always be glad that I have it.

Today I finally finished the book, "Moth Smoke". It tells disturbing story and I still can't decide whether it is a good one. It is about a Lahori who lost a respectable job (this is debatable), had an affair with his best friend's wife who broke his heart, became a junky, robbed a boutique, shot a boy, being set up for a crime his best friend committed and ended up in prison, hopelessly. The story shines some light on the current modern-day society in Pakistan: your academic excellence does not matter if you are not well-connected; guns and drugs are easily available.

The story makes me sad. If a story stirs your emotions, slap your face with the harsh reality that you least want to face and leaves you with no hope, is it still a good story? Then again, if a story manages to stir one's emotions so much and presents the reality that few would, can it be a bad one?

One thing that disturbed me most in the story is that the character started out smoking recreational drug, harmless probably. But when things fell apart, he ran away from reality and started to smoke heroin: he budged. Personally, I hate to budge. I am not a person with strong will so I know how much harm budging can cause. So when it comes to things that are bad for me(like alcohol, cigarette, gambling etc.), I don't put my will to test: I never touch them and make up my mind to hate them (and convince everyone else so) when in actual fact I don't really understand them. Maybe I am being smart. But maybe if I stop being a coward, try them and then reject them, I would be a stronger person. But stop being a coward is not an easy thing to do.

In a society which values meritocracy relatively more, one, if decides to work hard, can actually maintain more dignity. My environment is difficult enough, but the one told in the story was even harsher. I can't help but wonder, can I survive if I am in that environment? Can I still have the choice to maintain my dignity? I always think that the world I am in is like a big circus. We are all pathetic performers, desperate to capture the audience that we wish would applaud to our effort and then reward us. We do whatever we can, sometimes even things that we don't approve and be cowards and convince ourselves that we have no choice. Just how much cowardice can one swallow? Why are we or me, rather (guess have no right to make representation for all) so afraid to be brave?

Then I started to think what makes the people in the story so desperate? I mean they were well educated, graduated from universities and they became criminals. And they honestly (or cowardly) believe that they have a right course for committing crimes: redistributing the wealth in the country. If education cannot help the poors to improve their lives, what can? Is it really true that their misery is caused by unfair distribution of affluence? I may be a little more fortunate that our government is generous to give us just enough to stop us from roaring. Coming from a country which my own ethnic group is constantly being marginalized, I do think that a hungry stomach is what drives a man angry.

Then again, the story might not have reflected the whole truth about the society. Everyone has selective eyes after all. And gradually recovering from the sorrow caused by the story, I choose to believe that there is still some good left. Sun still shines, flowers still blossom, birds still chirp and our hearts still ache over others agony. And I have chosen to have faith. Maybe I am being naive, living in a picture called hope that I painted for myself. But maybe that's what I need: a little innocence, a small gesture, a big heart.