You don't have to read this. This isn't a life-changing essay of reflection, nor is it a written letter of love/hatred/apology to anyone, nor an all-out exploration into the deepest parts of my soul. I write, simply because I want to. Sometimes when my fingers feel twitchy, but are still sore from the blisters of my fretboard and guitar strings, I look for somewhere else for my fingers to move in rapid succession, and also in harmony with the creative processes in my brain. In many ways, blogging is like improvisation in music. You let your fingers run, you unlock that part of your brain that doesn't care what comes out as long as it sounds good. It may not always make sense, nor does it have a tangible objective, but it plays its part in giving you something to do instead of just listening to the boring backing track of repetitive chords.
Hi, my name is Jun Shern. Shern for short. Or Jun. Or JS. Some prefer Chan. It doesn't matter so much, really. Even saying "Oi!" would suffice when calling me. As long as the voice sounds like it's headed in my direction, I would turn.
Most of the time, I would turn even if it doesn't sound like it's headed in my direction. Partly, it's because I like to think that people are always calling for me and that I am very much needed by everyone. I also like to think that it would make a difference in everyone's lives, should I suddenly pass. Perhaps that's why I try so hard. Which I do.
I try my utmost best in things that can make people turn their heads. I firmly believe that if something is done, it should be done to the extent that people will actually notice that it ever was. That's why I appreciate it whenever somebody does something that can hold my attention. I hate things that are done shabbily. That's not perfectionist, mind you. I dare not call myself a perfectionist, for perfectionists actually strive for absolution in every single endeavor of theirs. That's the whole point of perfection, of course. To be perfect. However, I think that the whole concept of perfection is bullshit. The word exists merely for the sake of you having something nicer to tell your girlfriend than "You're very good at many things". I mean, that sentence hardly sounds like a compliment. It sounds like something you would tell your friend when he/she has just failed an exam that meant very much to him/her.
Not to say that I am not perfect. I am perfect, in my own eyes. Everything that I want to do, I do. Every standard that I set for myself, I achieve. I am entirely and wholly contented with who I am, and I believe that that's about as perfect as a person can get. Of course, there are still many critics out there, who believe that to be perfect, I should stress more on this, do a little more of that. But that's unnecessary. I do the things that I want to do, to the heights that I believe I should reach.
Did I mention? I'm an unreined narcissist. That is, to say, "a person who loves him or herself without boundaries". I appreciate myself more than I appreciate anyone else. I trust myself to do things in a way that I would never trust anyone else to. Not to say that I dislike others. I do trust my friends. I love, and I admire. However, how else can it be? The only person whom I have known all my life, who has been everywhere I go, who knows exactly what I want to do, is myself. Is it wrong to be so self-satisfied?
I read the blogs of others, I hear their stories, I watch their tears, their tantrums. All the emotion that everyone goes through as their lives go on. I cannot help but wonder, what is so different about me? How is it that I go to sleep every day feeling the same? I wake up feeling stoned, slowly stir from my stupor, then as I meet people, absorb the smiles that others direct at me only to amplify and project that very smile back to them. I hear a joke, and I laugh my guts out to show them that I appreciate and understand that they come to me with all good intentions. As the day progresses, bad things happen. I fill with worry, I cloud my mind with solutions, plans, and hopes to overcome the problem. Sometimes it doesn't go away so easily. Sometimes it turns into something bigger, but eventually, like a balloon that swells with no mind for the consequences, it pops. It bursts.
Whether or not that balloon is empty but for the exception of air, or it is filled with dirty water from the kitchen sink, it make no difference. If it is just air, it means the problem is gone. If it is dirty water, then the water falls down upon the unfortunate head of the unfortunate person whose unfortunate maid would have to clean up the floor afterwards. This means that the problem is not yet over. It has come out full-force, and I feel the shame and disgust of the water soaking through my clothes and into my skin. But it does not matter. All it takes is a few steps to the bathroom, where I can peel off the wet, dirty, layers that envelope my body, and step into a set of fresh new clothes, feeling better than ever.
What I mean to say is, all things, good or bad, come to an end. The moments exist, and they are real to you when they are occuring. But at the end of the day, all in the past have passed, all that is gone is gone, and all you have to do is wait for the next train to come.
Just so you know, there is no lesson within this post. No deep, meaningful advice based on personal experiences. This is just something I'm doing to fill the void of the in-between Add Math marathon breaks.
I'm not ranting, though. I hate ranting. I hate the concept of it. Ranting is for crazy people. I'm not crazy. Quite the contrary, if you ask me. I like to think that the privilege of being named as a genius is not such an difficult thing to achieve. I also like to think that I am a genius. In other words,
I like to think.
And so, I THINK that this is the end of the post. And you should, too.
Cos there really isn't anything else to it.
Heheh. Made you highlight it, didn't I?
Jun Shern out.
*Static*
*Static*
