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.
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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** I have a confession to make. I thought I could do this segment weekly but each week, I find myself scratching my head vigorously for new drabble ideas. And more often than not, I feel like I'm just vomiting out nonsensical streams of words in a vain attempt "to drabble". AND EVEN WORSE, my writing has become boring and repetitious. I have managed to post one weekly since starting the blog because truthfully, some of those were things I wrote some time to a long time ago taken from my phone notes, diary, brainstorming notebook, word drafts, and whatnot.
In addition to all that, I have also found myself plagued with ideas on what to post for #FreeThoughtFriday, enough to last for at least the next two months. The major problem is that, some of those ideas stem from events that happened to me recently but since I already have things queued for the following weeks, those ideas would have to be pushed to much later on. By doing that, the post loses its meaning and relevance to what's happening in my life at the moment. If I continue at this state, I feel like I would be forced to write about general floating topics which does not allow me to go in-depth because whatever it is does not relate to my current thinking-state while writing. However, this is not a goodbye to the #WednesdayWritings segment nor an announcement for a halt in blogging activities. The only thing that will change from now on is that I will not be posting drabbles on a weekly basis anymore. It's schedule from here thereon would become more erratic. Instead, I'l be posting normal blog posts (which I used to only post once a week under #FreeThoughtFriday) more often. Consequently, I am still deciding what to do with #FreeThoughtFriday. I'm thinking of either getting rid of it as a segment altogether just because I won't be posting relevant content to it just every Friday any longer, or, changing the type of content that goes under the hashtag-- what change? I don't know yet but something that's enough to distinguish it from my normal posts. In the meantime, I will be blogging with a new schedule, and that's Mondays and Wednesdays. Byee! ![]() First and foremost, before you call me a hypocrite, I'll call myself out. Me, vocalising your thoughts before you even comment it: "Hey -------! You're an effing hypocrite!" Also me, while sipping a cup of coffee: "I know, thanks." The me who has achieved enlightenment through acceptance: "Okay, just letting you know." Now that that's done and over with, don't get me wrong... I absolutely love filters. Who would've known I looked so hot as a female dog (get it?)? With some hearts over my head, or maybe a flower crown from Snapchat; I am a goddess. I look pretty cute with that blue-ish filter on Instagram. Snow makes my skin brighter and clearer than it really is. With a smaller face, a smaller nose, and emphasised eyes; I am absolutely irresistible (someone, please agree with me). ![]() I turn off the apps and switch to my phone's own camera app and what do I see? I'd hate to use this word, but its the only appropriate word to be said... MONSTROSITY!!! Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little. However, you get what I mean. I have large pores, uneven eyelids (I literally have one monolid eye, and the other has double eyelids), big nose (so much so that when I take selfies, the lighting almost always highlights it), big mouth, gummy smile, braces, messy eyebrows, a stache, and a heck lot of facial moles. Truthfully, I am not your standard beautiful. I probably am no one's #beautygoals nor #bodygoals or #sopretty or #IWishIWasHer. Let's be real, I am probably not #goals material. And THAT... affected me for a very long time. In fact, it's still something that still affects me occasionally. If you read this week's #WriteUpWednesday , it pretty much explains what I still feel some days. I just learned how to better deal with it; and I'm still learning and I'm still coming to terms with the different ways to deal with it. And I write these, to deal with it; to put things into perspective; to create a tangible evidence to help me (and you) realise how ridiculous this whole #Beauty business is. So... what did I realise and what's my take-home advice? a) I am still not your standard Instagram-perfect, influencer-style beautiful. But then I realised, why be a standard when I could become a premium ;) <--- (truthfully, the reason why I gave up on Instagram aesthetics altogether--- but that's for another Friday) b) I am hella cute as a bunny, pig, dog, and cat. And you probably are too. (If you disagree to that, I applaud your powers of self-denial... Or you should probably get Snapchat or Snow and see for yourself.) c) Am I going to stop filtering my pictures? Probably not. It's fun. It's quirky. It gives me confidence. BUT, what I won't do is post filtered pictures exclusively. Basically, the advice is to try and keep it on a down-low and post more natural pictures. As some people on Instagram suggested, add stickers to the background, take pictures in good lighting (near a window has been highly suggested), find your angle----- but try not to alter your face shape, enlargen, or minimise your facial features through photoshop and filters, just let yourself glow. I am not against adjusting the contrast of the picture or whatever, it does make your pictures look sharper (My picture in the About Page has enhanced contrast just because I thought it looked too dull without it.) One word, but it's the most important message of this post: Acceptance.
I first learned of the word "autonomy" in my Year 9 History class when we were studying about World War I. How is this related to what I'm about to say? Nothing. None at all. I just wanted to mention it. ;)
. . . Anyways, I turned 18 last April, on the day before my first IB exam. I just finished high school, I graduated last May. I am, according to law, of legal age. I am, however, according to my current state, still very much a kid. I am more like a responsible kid, per se. I can live alone in terms of taking care of myself. I can cook. I can clean. I can wash and iron my own clothes. I have no problems contacting any authorities or establishments for anything. I can cross the road. I can ride a taxi. I can set up a doctor's appointment for myself. I can go on a medical check-up by myself. However... I've barely crossed the street alone. I've only ridden the taxi alone less than 5 times; and by alone, I meant, with a friend and I didn't ask my parents permission to do it-- I called them when I was already in the taxi. I have to call my parents whenever I ride a taxi. I can't drive. I've never gone grocery-shopping by myself. I'm chauffered to 98% of the events I go to. I've set up a doctor's appointment and attended the check-up alone, just once. And so based on all that, I can safely say I'm just about 25% adult and 75% child. I have no one and nothing to blame for it. That's just my situation. I do say that I feel less autonomous and capable of independence than most of my friends, especially the ones from the Philippines. Since my batch was the last one to be permitted to attend university even after only completing until Year 10 of secondary education. most of my Filipino friends and former classmates are now already in their 3rd year of undergraduate studies while I am here, not even in university yet. My usual stance on the topic is a state of indifferent acceptance. I studied under an international secondary curriculum which ends in Year 12, and so, it is only natural for me to start university later than my Filipino peers. However, I would have to start university even later because I am taking a gap year (that may be something I rant about some other time). Speaking of my Filipino peers, since they have been in university earlier than I am, and therefore, have already been living independently for quite some time while I still am not, I do get a sense of insecurity sometimes. I feel that I have a lacking of sorts, like I'm weak and incompetent compared to them. My consolation is that the circumstances that I am in are partly responsible for the reason why I am not like them; and my confidence, is in the fact that I am ready to take on a life of autonomy once the circumstances permit. I am in no particular hurry, however. I recognise that with autonomy comes the fact that I will be leaving behind my family. Alas, for now, I'll enjoy living in the moment. I crave a sense of autonomy, I believe that would be a freedom most gratifying. However, I also already long for the comfort of being surrounded by my family, and Arima. That is my curious issue with autonomy. What are the odds? I did relatively well in my IELTS, overall. I received a cumulative average of 8.0 out of 9.0. I scored 8.0 in the reading and speaking sections and a 9.0 in listening. However, when it came to writing... I was given a score of 6.5. Honestly, and I've mentioned it previously on my post on the actual day I took the IELTS (), out of all the things I thought I would mess up-- it would be the speaking section because of all the stuttering I heard from myself. No matter; I refuse to let a single test account for my writing capabilities. Instead, let this blog be my testimony. P.S. I'm not bitter.
The last #WriteUpWednesday "Not human" was truthfully something I did not write recently. I did not have anything prepared at the moment so I started rummaging through random drabbles I had saved on my computer from previous years. "Not human" was a drabble I wrote down in 2014 around the time I was still suffering from that year's *post-MUN syndrome.
The MUN topics that greatly interested me were always the ones regarding Human Rights. That is why, to this day, my favourite committee is SOCHUM and not DISEC--- which is the committee that the greater portion of my MUN friends favour. I do not want to get too political as I'm afraid I may say something inappropriate out of ignorance. However, I believe that the message behind the drabble was something that deeply bothered me at the time: it was about child soldiers. "Not human" was written under the narration of a child soldier who had become "dazed and detached". The tone was a mixture of apathy, spite, and monotone to symbolise the fact that the narrator had already gone past the point of no return and no longer cares about anything in the world. The narrator exists in the world of no morals, no mercy, and no principles. This was how I imagined child soldiers to be like. This was how I imagined some evil acts are made. In my opinion, there are some instances wherein some people have been so deeply wronged by the world that they become unfeeling and therefore easily influenced by those who have truly evil intentions. They become unable to think for themselves, and especially not for others. They lose their autonomy and sense of principles and values. At this point, they become "not human" and are easily influenced by those who wish to make them pawns for evil intentions because they simply lack any semblance of care for anything. They neither care for others or anything, not even themselves. For what I really am, a sheltered kid whose deductions are simply based on what I read off of fiction and news articles (the disparity between both that which is sometimes a very thin line that breaks occasionally), I could be very wrong about anything and everything. However, the scariest thought that comes to me whenever I think these things, is the thought that I may be right. *Post-MUN Syndrome: a syndrome that affects MUN delegates immediately after MUN conferences. The symptoms may persist from as short as 3 days to 2 weeks depending on the case. The symptoms include: bringing a placard to the classroom and raising it up whenever answering a question posed by the teacher, referring to people and themselves in third person, communicating in an extremely formal language, topics brought forth by sufferers become exclusively related to the MUN conference that just passed much to the annoyance of their friends and colleagues who were not part of the event. I registered for it two weeks ago in a panicked whim and vain attempt to include to to a university scholarship application I should send by the second week of October. Is it crazy? I assume so. Have I taken it before? No. Did I study? I guess, I did. In all honesty, I don't even know what exactly to study for. I just did whatever mock IELTS simulation I could find online. Am I nervous? Possibly. Can I do this? Well, I have no choice. Just kidding, maybe.
Anyways, Lord please help me but whatever happens, happens. Let's not be anxious, okay? Remember your truce to yourself, -------. It's all positive vibes from here on out. Unhesitant, remember? Just do it. :) P.S. As I was writing down "positive vibes", I just remembered how dark my last #WriteUpWednesday had been. Well, please excuse me for that. Not to confuse you or anything but #WriteUpWednesdays are drabbles that I right in various mental states (mostly half-awake, half-asleep states when your brain is in a condition similar to when you're drunk--- probably, I wouldn't know because I've never actually gotten drunk...) Anyways... the point is that no matter how dark and borderline concerning my #WriteUpWednesdays could become, please pardon it because it's an expressive writing style and theme that I got accustomed to. Remember, my first book was a horror/thriller. In their essence, despite the darkness that my creative/expressive writing may exude sometimes, their purpose is to relate to those that may be suffering from the same thoughts. In them, may they find solace and relativity--- things that I realised had been important to me when I was in a less positive mindset. And so, thanks for reading, and I hope that cleared up any misunderstandings. I can't remember exactly when it happened--- when the baqalapocalypse occured, when once individually distinctive and individually named convenience store in Abu Dhabi had all transitioned into a singular, uniformed identity that was 'Baqala'. Landmarks gone in a blink of an eye. No more Greenhouse, Hanarum, and White convenience stores to be found in sight. They're all just named Baqala now.
However, even though this might be the case, whatever you need and whenever you need it, a Baqala is there to supply you with your necessities. Well, technically, this post isn't even the beginning. It's not even the first blog post I did on this site. It is in fact, the second. #WriteUpWednesday "The Quiet Zone" was the first one, but this will be rather similar. BUT, it is the first #FreeThoughtFriday so, WOOHOO! Let's begin!
When I had the crazy idea of starting a blog, which is what I am doing right now, I was perfectly aware of the fact that I would have no readers (at least initially). After that, I thought about the point of doing this at all if no one's reading it. These early posts which I spent time on might not even be read... ever. If I do get readers on my blog later on, these posts, the pioneers of this blog, would be buried under several others. Therefore, what is the point? I am talking, rather, writing to a void. However, and with this I shocked even myself, I did not mull over that thought for more than a few seconds. This blog... it is a form of journal for me. It is an expressive outlet. It does not matter much to me whether I get 5 or 500 readers. Of course, I wouldn't want this blog to be in the "Quiet Zone" forever with no one reading it aside from myself, but the immediate purpose of this blog is not for others but for myself. I made that choice early this year, at around March, that I would start making decisions that are beneficial to myself as well. Call it selfish; I call it regaining my sanity after spending such a long time being so needlessly selfless. Everything has its limits. So here's to humble beginnings, and to anyone else who gets to read this blog post, no matter how far away in the future you may be, thank you... |
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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.
#WednesdayWritings - drabbles, poetry, prose, short stories--- creative and expressive writing in no one's style.
#ThrowbackThursday - the cringey, the I-did-that? moments, the tear-inspiring, and the embarrassing moments of the past gone by--- available only here so shhhh...
#FreeThoughtFriday - a collection of 3AM thoughts for your collective amusement and might get you asking wtf?!
to see older posts:To view some of my older posts, there is a "previous" button hiding just below the bottom left corner of the last post of this page.
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