As I'm writing this, I've just gotten back from my 1st major test for my Zoology Lecture class this sem. And in simple terms, it went not well. For this test, I actually tried to study. Emphasis on try because I didn't go overboard with it, but I did study. I read through the material, although admittedly, I didn't finish. I tried to remember as many details as I can. I even woke up twice in the middle of the night to try to study some more. That's why, this morning, I wasn't feeling very jittery. I had a great morning, in fact. I wore a cute exercise outfit for my first class of the day, Yoga. My hair was up on a high pony-tail with a concealed clip under to give it an Ariana Grande look. The exercises today were admittedly challenging but I came out of it refreshed. So, when I headed to my test, which was the class after Yoga, I was feeling great, to be honest. Then, the test was handed out...
From feeling okay-ishly prepared, I quickly realised that I wasn't prepared, if at all. Most of the questions, as fate would have it, came from the part of the material I didn't get to focus much on. But, I didn't start feeling bad(?) I know right, it's a weird reaction, even for me. I was fine. I went through the test, accepted VERY quickly that I wasn't very prepared BUT also knew that it won't stop me from trying to answer the questions as best and as thoroughly as I can. And that I did.
And so, still surprisingly in high spirits, I went home. And so here I am now, on my "bed", ranting to you in hopes of dispelling my leftover energy as I wait for my takeout lunch to arrive and time to pass by until I have to go back to school for my next class. I'm in surprisingly high spirits. I don't feel despair about probably failing that test. And let me tell you, a certain version of myself in the past would be crying while watching YouTube right now because this is not the first test I've done not-so-well in since the sem started. So far my quizzes and tests are an average of high C+ and low B-- such a far-cry from my A+ studded high school career. But I am fine. And, I found myself saying something the old version of me would've haughtily never accepted before. i said, "Well, that was not-so-good but oh well, there's next time." "There's next time." I acknowledged the fact that there is a future because there is a next time. That, my friend, is character growth. As a Psychology student speaking, that, my friend, is the kind of growth mindset that will make Carol Dweck herself, proud.
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There were a significat amount of times during this past year wherein my anxiety cells seem to be turned off during the times when it should be on its peak capacity. Let's say a worrying situation arises, as they happened to have done an unusual number of times during this past year in particular, and being the worrier that I am. I know it in my guts that this situation should make me anxious. I should be trembling in fear right now. I should be crying. In some of those situations, the implications of the "would-be" negative situation should be enough to veer me into a panic attack wherein half of my body starts going pale and numbs against feeling.
It is unusual because in a few other occasions wherein the situation (in hindsight) was less imminent than the ones I'm trying to imply, I tended to suffer from all the symptoms I just described. As a hypothetical example, let's say I was afraid of getting any type of wounds on my skin because I scar easily. Therefore, I would be careful around new books in case I get a paper cut, as well as with the kitchen knife when I'm cooking. However, comparing my anxiety levels on the possibility of getting hurt on both situations, I feel more anxious around paper than I do when working the knife while cooking. It doesn't make sense really especially when I'm well aware that a knife injury would be much more severe than a paper-cut. It doesn't make sense how careful I act around paper while be casually relaxed cutting vegetables in the kitchen. It's almost like I know for a fact that nothing bad is going to happen with the kitchen knife. I'm somehow sure of it. On the other hand, I don't feel any of that reassurance working with paper and that is why I am anxious-- even if/when I do get a paper-cut, it probably wouldn't be serious enough to result in an overgrown scar. It's perplexing, really, but, to be honest, during those times in the previous year wherein a huge anxiety-causing situation appeared-- nothing horrendously bad happened, as if proving my gut feeling of there being no need to feel anxiety, right. Sure, during some of those times, things did not go as planned and/or things fell short but never did any of them result in the absolute worst-case scenario that my mind is good at conjuring up even for the smallest of anxieties. My gut feeling was actually right?! Fascinating. However, I'd like to think of it more that maybe, it's divine intervention, in a way something of a wholesome prank from God. And like truly wholesome pranks, they are designed to spur someone into action and to alleviate a reaction whilst not really harming nor injuring the participant in a severe way. Sure, as the pranked, you might get soiled and maybe suffer a cut or two but alive and well nonetheless. . . . Now, another possible knife-cut situation has arisen but once again, I don't feel as anxious as my rational brain tells me I should be. I'm strangely calm and clear-headed. It's weird but I'm not complaining. For a normie, I don't really know how pondering this rhetorical question will benefit me in any way but I have been having this thought since the weekend of the concert: What if I were to become famous? Would it be a dream come true or would I wish I just stayed being No One for the rest of my life? I play music. I'm not a genius nor am I exceptionally talented but I play as a hobby and I usually enjoy grabbing opportunities to perform. I sing-ish: which just basically means that on some days I'm like, "Wow, if I sound like this now, what more if I had training?", while on other days, I'm like, "*******, you sound like a choked-up fish." Anyways, the point is, I have creativity-based hobbies that which if I pursued seriously and/or by fateful luck could earn me fame. I've fantasised about it surely, I mean, who wouldn't want to be looked up to, praised and recognised? I do too. Whether anonymously or while bearing my real name, I, too, have dreamed of becoming famous... to an extent. What if I were to become famous? Would it be a dream come true or would I wish I just stayed being No One for the rest of my life? . . . My answer right now would be: I'd like to be famous too, but maybe not famous-famous. . . . Erm, let me explain: The main thing that comes to mind whenever I think of fame is how it would affect my ability to travel around freely. I love travelling and exploring, and just getting to know and look around places I've never been to before. In gaming, I'm always that one friend who takes her time exploring every single crevice of the map to make sure she "doesn't miss anything" which therefore results in everyone finishing the game early and then discussing it with each other while I cover my ears from all the spoilers as I'm barely mid-way through the play-through (also because I suck at fights). I also would like to be left alone when I'm out having fun with family and friends, and *ehem* someday, when I go out on a date *ehem*. I'm worried about how fame could possibly affect the meaningfulness of my identity and how much I could still control the preservation of my character. I don't know about you but I'd rather only share my stupidity mementos of years gone by with myself or just a select group of friends for nostalgia and laughs by means of Facebook review, and not through articles that which the whole world could simply Google and see. Actually, with the detail in which information about celebrities are easily searchable online, and the fact that so many people want to know those and much more: the idea kind-of terrifies me. Seriously, you can even find the sock size of some celebrity somewhere in the internet. And no, I did not search for it, I just happened to stumble upon the information, for goodness' sake. An example of how absurd fan knowledge about a celebrity could be, there's this fan who even memorises Brendon Urie's first Instagram post's caption and, it made me feel uneasy. Unnecessary as it may be, I have since gone through an Instagram purge of my old, maybe questionable, brought on by teen angst posts, and hipster era cringe-photos. Better safe than sorry. (Why don't you just switch to a private account then? If I did, then how are people gonna know how funny I am? But I thought... nevermind.) In summary, I embrace a certain level of privacy and it's not something I could willingly give up. However, I cannot ignore that there are perks to becoming famous-- those of which I don't feel there is a need for elaboration which is why even after all the points I've said, I still dream of becoming famous. . . . How and why? . . . Well, if I could achieve fame under a pseudonym or through anonymity, then it's... ... until you realise that this is reality and even Hannah Montana wasn't able to maintain that lifestyle forever.
. . . This is reality, kid. Well, I guess I'll worry about fame if/when I get there but right now, I have other things to do... like, cook dinner... Sh** A year ago, I told my chemistry teacher, "I'm only 18. I hope I've barely even lived past a quarter of my lifetime yet. Whatever happens, happens. I'm too young to think I've already failed." We were talking about exam anxiety and he was trying to reassure us that everything was going to be alright. He was worried, he said, because at that point, we were on the 3rd week of examinations and several students have broken down on several occasions. And when I said that line, he was taken aback. He has mentioned it to me multiple times since then that what I said that day positively shocked him, and that he has since repeated those words to his current students-- much to my slight embarrassment. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't nervous while I said those lines. My friend, who was with us in our conversation, said that I exuded a calm and collected confidence. Little did she know, that on the inside, I was filled with nervous energy. Little did they know that at the time, I realised way too late that I spoke out loud the words that I had only been repeating quietly to myself as an anchor of reassurance as to not to break down. Nonetheless, I believed those words at the time because I wanted to believe in it.
Now, whenever I try to do something, it just doesn't work out. It fails before I even get to work on it. It's like having the brakes slammed before I even turn the key but the brake-slamming is not done by me and no matter how hard I push back against my seat in order to firmly press on the accelerator, the force on the brakes are stronger than me. ![]() Frustrating is an understatement because to be honest, eff tap, tap, tapping on the glass. I'm not Evan Hansen, I have been pounding on the glass, and I have been using reflectors to grab the attention of anyone and everyone on the other side of that damn window. Now, why nobody else seems to notice my efforts is beyond me but I don't plan on stopping, yet. Honestly, I was crying when I began to write this post because I felt miserable from getting rejected, yet again, for the 3rd time this month. However, now, I just feel wronged. If you're wondering, I was just told that there are no more seats available in a language course I have been waiting for since October 2017. Not to sound entitled or anything but their website said "First come, first serve," and so, in my determination, I had a stake-out on their website until the forms were available. I filled out the forms in a jiffy and sent them back immediately, on the day they were released. Why I was put on a different class (not the one I applied for), then when I brought it to their attention, put on the waiting list of the class I actually applied for, and then ultimately told that they have no more seats available for me, is beyond me. "I'm only 18. I hope I've barely even lived past a quarter of my lifetime yet. Whatever happens, happens. I'm too young to think I've already failed." At the beginning of this post, as I mentioned, I was feeling very down. My gap year, so far, well, let's just say that it didn't go as I planned at all. When I was offered a place for an internship, I couldn't go because of transportation issues. Whenever I wanted to participate and volunteer to events, some of them, only occurring once a year, to most of them, again, I could not go. When I was told that I would be going to Singapore where transportation won't be an issue anymore and where opportunities, such as the ones I mentioned, are more abundant-- again, I was not able to go. Universities, I've filled out so many forms and spent a couple hundreds already on application fees, and yet, I still don't know where I am going to study this Fall. At times, I even worry and fear that I may not have anywhere to enroll to for this Fall. I've hunted down activities, searched for opportunities that curve around my limitations, and the language course was one of them because finally, its timing might be tight but it nonetheless fits the schedule-- only to be turned down yet again. I have been vocally assured by many people, including myself, that "it's not the end of the world yet," and that "everything's going to be alright, just have faith." These do not define who you are, they say. Then... what defines me? Words fail. At the beginning of this post, I was feeling very down. I needed to express my misery but the more I wrote and thought about it, I just became angry. Words failed me. No matter how enthusiastic I made myself sound, how interested I expressed myself-- and even on the times when I almost pleaded the world to just give me a chance and give me the opportunities I deeply hoped for, I still failed. But, I only failed to them. I haven't failed to myself yet. If anything, I'm only as determined as ever now. Call it stubborn, if you will, but... "I'm not Evan Hansen. I will pound, pound, pound into that glass until it breaks. And, I won't just be waving through the window to grab people's attention. I'll go through the window and wave my hands right in front of their faces." Organisers, journals, calendars, alarms (lots of them), timelines (quite a few of them), neatly labeled files put in their corresponding folders, folders for everything, actually-- I may have a slight obsession with organisation tools.
My closet, book collection, and pens are all stored by category. I have several notebooks for different purposes (one for blogging, one for creative writing, one for college applications, etc.) My computer photo albums are all organised by date, event, and relevance. And yet... I always find myself doing the majority of my work on the days/hours approaching the deadline. I often find it hard to stick to one idea, constantly scratching the previous one after thinking of something "better". I become restless and couldn't stick to a set routine for long. In short, I am chaotically organised whose self is organised chaotically. . . . Now, I don't know what else to write, I've completely lost my train of thought on what point I wanted to make in this post and now I'm just rambling... Do you get me? |
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![]() ![]() ![]() The cover artwork featured above is used with special permission from IG: @squackoud
Special hashtags to watch out for:*** the following are specialised blog entries that have no set schedule compared to the usual bi-weekly postings.
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