need.

To belong is to feel belonged.

I am tired of living in this world that does not need me or want me. I just want to feel... Needed. Or at least wanted among a group of friends or acquaintances.

For four years that I am back in my homeland, I have no stable cliques. No group of friends that I can talk to comfortably and still feel, at least for a moment, belonged somewhere, to be a unit, one of the few jigsaw puzzles that can be pieced together in order to be labelled as a group.

I remember, albeit vaguely, the better group that I felt that I almost belonged in was back in my 2nd semester of my ADP days, where I was friends with a bunch of multicultural people, and with many bold dreams that were waiting to happen. It was not about what we talked about or what we did that justified us as a group, but what we wanted in each other, to be part of a company that reveled in not just who was in the group, but what we needed in each other that can tickle our thoughts and emotions with just a single word or action. I never felt that feeling ever again, even when the group that followed was similar to this, but it all turned out to be fueled by greed, the use of each other and mutual deceit that tied the thin strings of friendship that would have long been torn if not for the use of money and personal gain.

I have a close friend that I could call brother and a girlfriend who loves me more than anything I could ever think or dream of, but individual efforts do not damp the fact that I do not belong anywhere. Fighting for power, greed, or whatsoever does not matter to me. Individual rewards are not what I seek, but group closure and mutual love that connects us together... Yes. Yes please.

Because in the end, I need the need to feel needed.

Penang (+)

The end begins.

With the eyes of a hawk and the skills of Michael Schumacher, the man in white trundles and twists his steering wheel with the might of a Greek God. His senses untainted, his English refined and his outfit white and tidy. 

The taxi driver spoke softly, his Indian accent mixed with the slang of a Penangite, and at the back of the car, familiar faces smiled and talked about their experiences in this wonderful food wonderland that is Penang, talking to-

Me?

No. Not me. I am the man in front, the guy who has taken the invisibility cloak from Harry Potter and shrouded himself from all attention. I am one with the taxi driver, a speck of importance amongst this group of friends.

They all speak in the language of all common folks, English and yet despite their crisp and clear mastery, I can never comprehend why am I never, never the one that fits. The only one that kills time by being alone, my thoughts being permeated only by the husky singing of the man beside me, the invisible man

The powers of language are strong, and relationship, as stable as a pillar, but I can never taste it. To sip from the bottom of the bottle is hard to take in, but it's alright.

(Alright?)

Yes.

penang (-)

Do I really fit in anywhere?

This question would have its neon lights turned on whenever I am in a group of acquaintances or more recently, friends, and as I am here, fiddling with my phone while my friends and my girlfriend is at the other end of the apartment, laughing and snorting over things I can never comprehend, my head hurts. Really hurts.

Penang has been kind to me. The sunburn, the vibrant and colorful energy it offers to anyone who cares to give it a look and the engorgeous amounts of good food piled up till the tip of my neck, it has everything that anybody would die to have, except for the weather of course, which, I suspect, could be Jesus masturbating to Madonna or Zeus screaming lights out at the humans who take the rain and sun granted. Traveling with this bunch of friends, even for the first day, albeit being tiring, was fun, and pretty hilarious. It was a much milder version of the Hangover, where everyone seemed to have so much joy to give and so many matters to share.

But am I able to partake in this responsibility? To bask myself into these humans that are my friends, beings whom I care for and cater for, and let them be the judge, jury and executioner of how I feel for the day?

I'm afraid not, because in the end, I seem to never fit in.

j.

What makes us human, really?

An hour ago before this post, a friend of mine said that I looked very similar to a friend of mine. Of course, that would mean little to many, and some might not even put the indirectly demeaning sentence in their heads.

But I do.

Oh yes, I do. A plethora of thoughts hit my head with such intensity it exploded into a million thousand pieces, its fragments hitting the walls that I put up with. I am... Ordinary. A normal peasant. I am not me. I look like someone else, I act like someone else, I am someone else. 

Of course, that mere sentence of comparison probably slipped through the tip of her tongue like mumbling a couple of swear words, but with this I can only further infer that we are all just made of flesh and bones, and nothing else more. No knowledge, no wisdom, no power to control our lives. Our powers only lie in what other humans perceive about us, and how we change according to these thoughts these other humans project.

The magnitude of language is apparent here, not because of what people say and how they would make us feel, but it makes us want to improve. However, what is there to improve? To feel ordinary and wanting to be more is something that we humans can never do, what I, a mere human, a Chinese in a near third world country, a son of two fathers, can never achieve. 

Instead of 'he/she looks like you', it is 'you look like him/her'. Our thoughts are trained to compare a fellow human with another fellow human, to objectify everything and to scrutinise every single detail. 

'Your hair looks untidy!'

'Hey, what happened to your usual clothes?'

We associate certain humans with certain traits, and ascertain ourselves with the fact that we might, and am extraordinary, a being that makes us different. Our lives are so intertwined with lies, it amuses me to see how we are all objectifying each other and yet, near to no one realises it. All we do is talk, eat, sleep, and utilise our memory muscles to define who we are and what we think of. Our stars are all aligned to make us feel superior, but in fact, we are inferior to others, a speck in this sad little blue ball we live in.

As my friends and my girlfriend are laughing over matters that will never interest me across the table, I can only contemplate how naive I am to always believe that we are all different, that we are all controllers of our own minds and thoughts, and never having to use our brain cells to differentiate different humans.

We do, and it makes me inhuman.

confused.

My life is a walking, speaking and a thinking lie.

It revolves itself around matters that does not matter at all, and all it does is scream its name to beyond, hoping to find an answer to this already dead planes that consists of nothing but walking blobs of blood tissues with a hint of intelligence embedded into their little brains.

If there is ever a superhero that my life can be compared to, it would be the Silver Surfer. Destined to have certain talents but will never be able to fully use it. To want to be wanted but cursed to eternal cosmic loneliness with himself, allying to others only when needed. Taking the trouble to be a hero for others but never getting the credit he deserves. It seemed inevitable that people would alienate him; he had a silver cosmic surfboard, his skin is silver and he is from a planet eons away from Earth.

But what about me?

What about me, a human, made with flesh and bones, with the same brain as a normal human would? Why am I being ostracized from society? How, exactly am I different from any one of you?

Being a human is such a chore. To satisfy others and wanting to be satisfied. I wonder what the Silver Surfer would do if he was to exist. Would he stab corporate villains in their hearts and slaughter religious abusers? Would he become a hero and be worshiped by millions of humans in this pathetic world we call home? Would he raise hell in general and leave no one alive?

I would not know, because after all, I am just a human.

Just.

magic/huh?

To be honest, this is pretty disappointing. Then again, it's pretty darn catchy, and I can relate to the lyrics right now, so yeah, why not?

************************************

I do not like guessing.

It is a sign of distrust, a raucous banquet of the truth lying before your eyes but you can only taste it when you dip your fingers into your mind, to twist it, to be in someone's shoes to solve this before a plate is placed on your hand, along with the warm, tasty morsel food on it.

Perhaps that is the reason why sometimes I find myself... Undesirable. Out of the norm. Out of place. Out of Earth. To be able to guess the truth is one thing, but to live with it? Oh dear, oh no, I do not like it. It is a responsibility placed on your shoulder, and multiplies when the person tells you more only after you have finished that guessing game that he or she assumes is funny and entertaining. It is a sign of genetic hypocrisy, where a human is designed biologically to speak by conveying their thoughts in words, not by twisting it, turning this guessing game into a myriad of dodgeballs where a person like me would have to keep dodging variables after variables before reaching a suitable conclusion.

This is why trust is a very strong word for me, I guess. I am not raised up to live in the fear of the truth, but to relish in it and to conquer it. Life has offered me many things, but the only thing it does not offer me is the benefit of the doubt. Doubting is the root of all dissatisfaction, and to be truly immersed in it would mean that you yourself would be a warrior of deceit, where you work for yourself and only yourself. It irritates me, honestly, when a question turns into a lame board game, and to win it means guessing all the way from the bottom to the top.

(So, why can't humans tell the truth straight away without question, and why the hate?)

I do not hate it. I disapprove of it. All relationships, whether it be friends or family or a personal relationship with a loved one, should not be based on deciphering each other's thoughts. We should all honest about each other, and to be able to convey thoughts through motions of our beliefs and the ability to communicate. It irks me to see how relationships wither and die because of this, all while they do not know that this is a major pivot of their problems and misunderstandings.

I am, unfortunately, not Patrick Jane, nor am I a true psychic. I am Andy Lai, an ordinary Chinese living in Kuala Lumpur, and to let myself succumb into these endless mazes that they call guessing is very, very, very tiring for me, both mentally and spiritually. I just want to know how you feel, how you think and how you would really want me to help you, because there is a reason why you would let me guess it instead of just telling me, right, humans?

It is 2.49am right now in this part of the world, and I am tired of being a total prick in the Internet. I'm out.

Let me sleep, Brain, please. Please.

Save me from insecurity.

yearned?

Yes. I am back.

Rejuvenated.

The weeks and months' worth of break has given me enough motivation to actually write something in this small space of mine. I do not even know where to begin with this post, and its direction as a whole. 

I have been writing negative posts about my life for the past year or two that I have forgotten how does it feel like to be happy, to taste its positivity and to savor the freedom it gives to your mind. I am no longer restricted, and I feel... Great.

What is this, really? To feel like you are chafing through cloud after cloud, to glide through marble floors with laughter and to let the wind touch your face while you run towards the unknown? This is too surreal, and to the point where it scares me.

Alas, she is beside me now, lying on her pearl white sofa with a contented smile. Her luscious hair touched my lap, and the sun is now dimming itself, signaling its final descend into its well deserved rest. Her face is radiant and full of vigor, and all I can do is stop myself from smiling too much. Typing this without any 'good' metaphors will pose a great challenge for me, as I do mind about the content I put out here, especially after this long hiatus from this blog. However, this is an exception, becaus-

Bec-

B-

Because... This is perfect. Perfect.

dig/ an open letter

I'm in my very own Incubus phase now. Dear me.


******************************************


I am not a romantic.

It is not that I dislike being one, and as easy as it may seem for any human to adopt a reasonable yet cheesy amount of romantic behavior towards their current life partner, I find it hard and unbelievably dull. All the 'love you's and 'darling's; it never dawned to me as a very hard indication that you care about him or her, but rather the fact that you are adhering to the norms of being in a relationship and doing it for, well, the sake of doing it.

While I am typing the paragraph above, it seemed very obvious where this topic is going into. I have never typed anything detailed about my personal life, but just for this post and for anyone who is ready to throw a can of beans towards my Johnny, I would have to explain myself for the actions that had occurred in the past few days.

Time is a funny thing, and yet, it reveals so much about us and teaches us to make choices based on how we have lived for throughout this lifetime. It stops when you find a certain someone, but flows quicker when the certain someone is not who you would think it is and for you, Miss A, I have done everything I could to keep the time from flowing away.

The sand had washed up to the shore, and more was revealed about you as time goes by while we were together. You were not who I thought you were, and certainly not the type of woman I envisioned to be. Miss A, it took us less than a week to be in relationship together, while not even talking to each other the week before. I believe one of the main roots of the problem lied there, as we did not manage to understand each other and attempted to bond as other potential couples would have.

Decisions were made, and our relationship took a turn to the worse as I struggled to understand you. You tried too, but we can safely say to each other that in the end of the day, we knew near to nothing about each other, as no motivated interaction was formed, especially from me. I adhere to you, I respect you, but I never really tried to understand you, both as a human and a partner.

To end this relationship in such a manner was, in short, awful and yet relieved. Relieved not because we are no longer together, but because you and I could have a fresh start. It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and for me to face it with a straight face was painful. I am sorry, Miss A, and I wished I could have ended this in a much lighter note.

Of course, a main reason of your anger was also because I made another choice. A choice where many modern, urban norm followers viewed as 'taboo' or 'wrong', and while you may assume that I am typing all of this to change your minds based on the choice I made, it is not. This choice has made me motivated and attentive, two qualities where I initially did not have prior to the our previous relationship, Miss A. Her independence and individuality is intoxicating, and it comes in large, potent amounts.

I made my choice, and while you are seething and still attempting to kill me a few thousand miles away, I can do nothing but sit in this room of mine and wish you all the best in your future endeavors and relationships.

Miss A, please live for the present. Your life is going places, and you of all people should enjoy the ride.

charmed? (delayed post)

Pretty.


***************************************

Was that me?

To smile and to laugh so genuinely that I thought I was possessed by positivism? To drop that mask and to talk so freely to a person with vigor and passion that I thought I never had? To be... Happy and to just enjoy the company?

Today was special, and perhaps, in my mind, I know what I am experiencing right now. It is vastly different from the previous ones, and so... Unique. There was no weight under my shoulders and no power grasp. Any word we spoke seemed unfiltered and so raw that I was scared of losing myself into the already rich air that was floating between us. The conversation flowed like a steady waterfall, strong and powerful, and there I was, so powerless to this current and so willing to bend myself to its will.

It was magic. Or at least it was to me.