the words to my love

I remember meeting you that Saturday afternoon.

You moved so flawlessly and it was insane seeing you for the first time because it was like my world was suddenly filled with colour, contrasting with the black and white that I’d been seeing in the past few months. It was insane and crazy, because I thought that I was only meeting you for the now and not the future.

I remember the things we talked about, from every conversation to every fight we’ve had. They were all important to me. Every single bit of it and every word you said stayed, good and bad but somehow, I can never bring myself to hate you enough to leave you.

We were like children hiding in the bushes and keeping secrets of crushes. We sneaked around like it we were teenagers doing nothing and I still remember the first time that we kissed.

It was on a hot, sweltering Sunday afternoon and we’d spent the morning having coffee, reading a book and then going out to the waterfront where we sat in the shade of a tree talking about things that didn’t matter to us. I remember every word you said, and everything that we talked about because that day was important to me. We took a walk back to my car and had the windows wound down when you turned to look at me with the mysterious look in your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

That word itself made me nervous.

We kissed. I still remember everything that I felt that day. Nervous, embarrassed, shy, happy. All of it rolled into one and yet you managed to keep me sane just with those lips. You tasted like the Big Mac you had for lunch, and you were warm, a feeling that meant that we were both alive.

To all the kisses and the ones after that.

I remember when you called me at 10:30 at night just to tell me goodnight. I felt like my mind would explode because no boy had ever put that much effort in for me. I remember when you first held my hand the night of our second date, when you just held me and caressed my skin with your thumb because that’s all you could do while I took the time to get used to it.

You were patient and you were beautiful.

My best memory of you was the day we went to a park the first time and sat side by side reading a book. You smelled so good and when we went to read in the car instead, I thought you were so beautiful. It was insane seeing you read a book because I always thought boy readers were pretty. That same night, we sat at the back of my car and we talked about the stupidest things we could think of.

And then all of a sudden, we started talking about your last relationship, and how she hurt you. Oh, your ex-girlfriend, how she did hurt you so bad that you just broke down and cried in front of me. And it still haunts you to this day, and I know that much. Because when you think about her, all you ever did was let a tear slip to let me know just how much it still affected you.

I remember whispering my insecurities to you, where and why they existed and I remember how you held me as you cried a tear. When I asked why you cried, you said something that made me want to fall in love with you.

“You are just so goddamn pure.”

I knew then that I was falling in love.

We talked about a lot of things. One thing I could never forget was how you told me that you might come back for me. It made me feel loved. It made me feel like maybe, maybe there was something worth living for in this world.

That same night, I remember driving in the dark just the two of us with the music playing so softly and I remember as you held my hand that night. We were quiet. Nothing needed to be said because just being with you made me feel so happy. I remember feeling the europhia that threatened to break me when you looked at me through the flashing lights of the passing cars and this was the moment that I completely let myself to fall in love.

“I’m serious about this.”

And I knew you were. I could see it. I could feel it. And I knew that you were serious about me.

You couldn’t sneak back into base that day and spent the night out in the my car instead until you could call a taxi back to base at 3 in the morning. You asked for a last goodbye kiss before you left for the field for a week.

I missed you.

These were the moments when we were at the prime of what we had. They were special moments that I will never forget. And these are moments that I will remember you by, never for the bad but for the good because of how you made me feel.

You were worth it.

You don’t love me. You don’t like me anymore either, I know that much. I know that I’m not someone you care for anymore because I’m just someone who fell in love with you when you didn’t plan on making anything long-term.

And it’s your fault for allowing it to happen.

I hate you with everything I have. I hate you for not taking responsibility of my love and instead the best you could offer me was a simple, “sorry” because you had nothing else to give me while I had given you my everything.

I never asked for you to love me back, not once did I beg you to love me. But all I wanted was for you to accept my love, instead of pretending that my feelings were nothing more than a whim. I liked you so much that it transcended beyond my understanding and it took me so long to understand what it really was.

All I wanted was for you to smile at me and say that you know how much I love you and you appreciated it.

You knew that I was in love with you before I did. You knew that I was falling hard and you allowed it to happen. You knew that I was in love, but you pretended to be blind to it.

To say that I would stop hating you would be too far out in the future to predict but to say that I won’t would be too spiteful so this would be the words of my goodbye instead.

These are the words of my goodbye to you, my love.

Words that you will never reach you but I hope that you will read one day.

I love you, and I know that I always will even if it might not be the same anymore. I hope that you find what you’re looking for, and I hope that she treats you better than I could and I hope that you treat her better than you did me.

I hope that one day, we may come across each other again in between oceans and continents and in that one day, we’ll both realize how stupid we were.

But don’t fret, my love. I have never regretted a single moment with you because if I did, it would mean to regret falling in love and you were someone I would have crossed oceans for.

Now, you are no longer worth it.

be you or be your better?

I’ve spoken to many people in my life, many of which suffered from an envy-syndrome that drove them insane out of their minds. It was a mix of anguish, indistinguishable from failure with envy of the people better than them.

I quote some lines from a writer whom I haven’t heard of till the point I’d seen his quote which changed my life for most part of it;

“The only time you look in your neighbor’s bowl is to make sure that they have enough. You don’t look in your neighbor’s bowl to see if you have as much as them.”

It is by far one of the most surreal quotes I have ever seen because it seems too good to be true, one of which I couldn’t believe was so relatable but yet, at the same time, happening all over the world. It is insane, on most of its part not because of its contents but because of its veracity that it is actually happening in real time.

However, mostly revolving around the lives of the people around me, I become aware that they are too consumed by this need in them to prove themselves better than a person better than them. It is not by their subconscious that they are aware of their doing but it is a human need to establish the alpha-mode on that certain something.

My friend, whom I had met online and am still in good communications with him even though we live two continents away, suffer from depression. I understand his situation no matter how much I have never experienced it, but we were deep in a conversation earlier on today about how weird it is to hear someone call our names only to be meant as someone else.

He then tells me that he’s used to it – used to having people call his name only to mean someone else because there was once another person of the same name who was the on basketball team in his school, a straight-A student in his AP classes and had been president of several clubs.

I noticed the envy in the tone of my friend’s, one that dripped with so much jealousy it wasn’t easy to hide – a need to prove and be better than the other person. He admitted to wanting to be president of the clubs he was part of, wanting to get straight As in his AP classes and just wanted to be the one people meant when they called his name just so he could be better.

To him, it was an envious feeling of someone who was better than him.

To me, it seemed like someone who only wanted to better the other person out of spite.

It seems that we are all so obsessed with trying to be someone who is better than us in many aspects – an idol, as most would say – but it is not what we are most of the time. My friend, whose name shan’t be revealed, hated the idea of being himself. Despised and disgusted by the aspect of being who he was because he was unable to find something he was good at comparable to society’s needs and standards.

I reached out to him from afar, telling him that there is no point trying to be someone he was not. People are different in more ways than one.

Why do we spend so much time trying to be the person we are not when we can spend our time doing the things we are good at? We shouldn’t try to apply our skills that we had separately learned from our upbringing to the same thing that the other person had learned from a different upbringing.

My main point is this; it is better for us that we accept ourselves as who we are, no matter how much we are embarrassed of it. Why, some people ask?

I had done a social poll once, a long time ago on a social networking website; Twitter – regarding our self-reflection of the kinds of people that we all were.

I had asked, “Would you want your child(ren) to be the exact same kind of person that you are now?”

I had not expected many to vote no because of how people were so confident in the things they said or did without much remorse or thought, but it showed one thing that made me certain: People, especially teenagers and young adults, are not happy with who they are because they know they can do better than what they are doing now.

The question is how? Or even so, why?

I had always told people to be proud of who they were even if others may try to bring them down emotionally and mentally. It is a good idea to live by but sometimes, I take my words back. I do it in circumstances where it seems apparent that the person could do better than what they were.

Some people, those who are not emotionally as strong, like my friend who had thought that he was not good at a single thing because he spent half his life trying to be another person who wasn’t a single bit like him and stronger in other aspects, was and are pressured into thinking that something considered popular or within societal norms are the only things that are important when it is not true at all. He was pressured into thinking that what he was wasn’t enough to fit into what we considered “socially acceptable” and as a result, could not get over his depression.

He could do better than aiming for someone who was diagonal to the person that he was. He could do better than someone who was just as capable as he was, only that he refused to embrace who he was. The most important thing was; he barely knew who he was in the first place.

To me, knowing who you are is always the most important step to success because you know what you’re supposed to do to achieve what is most reachable for yourself, rather than reach for something that is already in someone else’s hand. I have had many experiences of trying to be someone I wasn’t, many of which I had failed in. But I take no regrets in the time I had spent because they were footsteps to leave and show me that I wasn’t ready or that I wasn’t meant to be. It pushed me beyond my limits and reach for something that I could do – writing.

Never in the entirety of my life have I ever looked into the bowl of achievements of someone else in jealousy, but rather in good will. I took it as the motivation that if he or she was capable of doing something, so was I. I never took it as a stepping stone to try and challenge someone who was already good at what they were, because what if I had failed? It would only bring me down and convince myself that I was not good in anything.

Our desire to become our better is a distraction for who we really are. We do not become our better – we are empowered by our better. I am empowered by a Malaysian writer who used to be an average girl three years ago, and over the course of her writing and aspirations, she now writes columns for a Malaysian newspaper online. I do not plan to write columns for newspapers nor do what she does, but I take it to heart that if she is capable of doing something that can inspire the minds of many, that I can do it too. I convince myself that I can become the writer and author of many books, and to add a bit of fun to my bucket list; possibly write an article for TIME magazine.

People confuse their betters as someone to compete with rather than someone to be inspired by. To be in a situation as such is compromising and difficult to get out of, especially when your mind challenges you to such desires because you never want to stop. To me, stop and think what you’re really doing and if the success of being better than your better is worth it, because once you do, you stop because you’ve accomplished what you need to without the passion of it but rather in the spite.

Always, always remember that everyone is different, but our betters are who make us the people we are because they push us into doing what we need to, rather than what we want to and it is them who will always look into our bowls to see if we have enough, rather than to see if they have as much or more than us.

And never forget it.

Looking At The Bigger Picture: Untold Soliloquies

I’ve always looked upon others with a simple question; why?

To a person unknown to me, it would seem bitter and heartless but from my perception, it seeks out the truth from what I only see. Looking at the bigger picture, I see what actions say as opposed to the words that only speak little.

My life has a single meaning to it; to strive for what I want despite the setbacks of anything and everything – but what does it mean to others? What do the lives of others mean to me? In all of honesty, very few people have a special place where I keep them but it matters not because there will always be space for others.

Albeit, looking at the bigger picture of my meets in life, I have become wary of allowing a significant number of people into my life but only because I have lost more than I can imagine. The lives of the people who were once very dear to me are now lost souls – living or dead – but lost, nonetheless.

The bigger picture is this; caution is what I keep by me always.

Everyone you meet has a story – be it a sad one, depressing, happy or tragic – we are all entitled to our own story. However, as strangers who pass you everyday, we are unaware of their bigger picture, the one that hides all truth and only speaks through words. We are, by our subconscious, ignorant and nonchalant to the likes of others who do not matter to us.

So this article is mainly, for those who have stories untold and unread.

I was walking down the streets in the city once when I stopped to watch a young man in a suit offer a bedraggled elderly woman in tattered clothes some money. To the public eye, they could only come to two conclusions; the man is kind and the woman is homeless.

It was, however, only a general statement. I stood where I did and asked one simple question; why? 

Why was the man so kind, and why was she homeless? In these situations do we look upon the words and stories not spoken and ask the questions about the people who do not matter to us. Many looked on the woman, some offering her money without giving her another glance but have many wondered why was she placed in such a predicament?

The life of the elderly woman is of no concern to me, but her bigger picture was, however, a question. The young man, suited and seemingly well-off, took thirty seconds off from his busy day to dig into his pocket for small notes of cash to offer to a woman who mattered not to him.

Why?

Did he at one point of time feel and experience life the way the woman did, or was he brought up to understand the hard work that had brought him where he was today? Was he, by any chance, a kind man not by oppression from society and parents but by choice and past experience?

These lives are the ones with stories untold from the start. Soliloquies that only they themselves understand.

We come to the general conclusion of situations when we know not of the truth behind every action and every word. We do not choose to see what is not shown because it is easier to not question why when the people involved do not matter to us. We do not question for reasoning but yet choose to come to a conclusion only obvious to the public eye.

I have spent days alone enough to think of what it means to understand the meaning of the bigger picture. It is as often, hidden by nature or sometimes by choice, but hidden mostly because vulnerability is threatened. Exposing your story can cause both positive and negative reactions – both to be expected from human nature – but just because it is hidden does not mean one does not question it.

We are too engrossed with our own lives to bother knowing the lives of others but with every step, you pass the chance of knowing a different story as how you pass strangers without questioning the simple question of why?

I have, by all means, discovered the true meaning to my life ever since I underwent a ten-minute talk about differences and bigger pictures, courtesy of my father whom I had learned from to accept and understand people from different walks of life. It is by this discovery, that I understood why I do what I do.

This larger insight on a person’s life is more than stories that changes a person, even if it does not matter to you. I could have walked away the day I saw the suited man and elderly lady but instead, I chose to stay and watch because it changed what I thought about the people around me. I was given a chance to question a man’s actions and a woman’s well-being because without it, I would have not understood what it meant to be in both their shoes.

Both their lives may not have mattered to me, as how I would not have mattered to them but the bigger picture, however, intertwines us all into a story in itself.

And we must always question the story.