Looking back in the much more younger and foolish version of myself, I sometimes feel ashamed about some of the actions I made during the big moments and the rubbish times I’ve been through. From first love to the occasional rebellion to parents. From figuring who I am to what I want to be. From those awkward “emo / loner days” to the current shadow days. Fully collecting my thoughts, I sort of feel this triumph about the battles I faced because of these nine things:
(1) I learnt how to make an opinion about myself.
(2) I learnt how to stay quiet when things messed up.
(3) I learnt how to express my feelings well.
(4) I learnt how to think and process things on my brain.
(5) I learnt how to sort things on my own.
(6) I learnt how to accept the good things and the bad things about myself.
(7) I learnt how to struggle and fight.
(8) I learnt how to fix myself.
and most especially,
(9) I learnt how to be fine and perfect.
***I apologise for this pre-twenty third birthday post about myself. The culprit is the British TV Show My Mad Fat Diary. Made me revisit my selfish and stupid days.
Today, I just met my estranged millionaire Godmother that my mum have told me about since I was kid. It felt awkward and peculiar since I never had a memory of her, I swear not a tiniest bit. Well, I just thought of writing about her since I expect a lot from any of my Godparents. I mean, for bloody sake, they are my second parents. But who am I kidding, this person is a stranger to me. I don’t feel safe around her. Totally. How can I tell her all my middle school struggles? What about my dilemmas with Amy? How can I ever count on her when she’s not been present almost my whole life? This is not just a kid rant, I’m turning thirteen next month, Journal. So basically, I’m a grown up now. This is a mature point of view of the new Marcus. Let me bugger off now. Cheerio!
From Love Actually to About Time, Richard Curtis never failed to let his audience feel the true sense of sentimentality, the great touch of warmth, and the magic dust of love. The particular motion picture that I just saw which he wrote — there maybe a possibility that I watched it in the most perfect time in my life, not to sound so cheesy — breaks the intertwined personalities of Anna Scott and William Thacker when fate brought them together at Notting Hill, England.
Anna is such a sweetheart with a good dash of a temper while William is kindhearted and affectionate. What was so nice about this RomCom is the fact that it is reminiscent of Peck and Hepburn’s iconic Roman Holiday (especially the ending when William paid a visit to Anna’s Press Conference.) Now, I gotta have my word with the music selection. She, When You Say Nothing At All, and You Got A Way are such good picks. Very cozy and tender tunes which matches the cinematography and the pace of the story.
Well, I guess it was so “Surreal… but nice.”
Does Happiness make you wrong?
Does Happiness make you illogical?
Does Happiness make you self-centered?
Does Happiness make you ethical?
Does Happiness make you serious with life?
Does Happiness takes off the feeling of doubt?
Does Happiness make you feel loved?
Does Happiness really make you happy?
Is Happiness a genuine feeling that you cannot hide?
Life. UGH. Stuff.
If you really want to be part of someone else’s life, you gotta work for it by making an effort in reaching out. The best things that you can give / offer someone is your time, support, care, and love. At least that’s what I heard and learned. In this cruel and awesome limbo we all call Life, you will meet millions but you will only need a bunch for you to survive and thrive.
I had the worst privilege of having a nightmare last night with my Father being dead. You see, my Father and I were close buddies, don’t get me wrong, but not that closer like my Mother and I. We maybe have different choices when it comes to clothes and television channels (and a lot more, believe me) but that doesn’t mean I don’t love my Father. You see, what we have is what I call an Awkward Love. It’s the kinda love that you’re too uncomfortable to show but really inside of you, you just wanna show your care for that person. Well, anyway, my point exactly is that you would not really know what the person means to you until he / she is gone. And regret, trust me, will forever be a ghost. I still can feel the throbbing pain when I woke up from that painful nightmare. UGH.
So I’m giving you a piece of unsolicited advice: Love someone. Even if it breaks your heart. Take the risk.
I remember when I met you. It was the definition of the word disregard. You were you. I was me. Both grumpy and selfish teenagers.
I remember the first day we talked to each other. It was the definition of the word awkward. You were this weird human being with your ways and words. Always alone and taciturn.
I remember the first time we talked about love. It was the definition of the word hurt. I was this stupid fellow hiding my obvious feelings for you. T’was really messed up and silly.
I remember the time when I told you I think I love you. It was the definition of the word waste. You rejected me with silence and regret. T’was grey, melancholic, and suicidal.
I remember the moment when we start growing apart. It was the definition of the word space. You changed sporadically and so did I. T’was massive confusion. We hit the road separate ways.
I will always remember the old you, M. Your lanky body, your dimples, your voice, your expressive eyes, your swear words, YOU.
Cold air. City lights. Left earphones in my ear, the right earphones on yours. We start owning the night. We walk to our usual spot to settle. Junk food and our tiny little courage as our guards. We talk about this brilliant clarity about love and life. We hold our goals and dreams in our fists. Little pieces of life are examined. We punch the air to to gather hope. The moon is the ultimate paparazzi with its flashing camera lens. We discuss the things we love and hate. We put our heads together about humiliating things and the things that amaze us. We debate about the purpose of almost every thing that’s happening in our twenties. Infinity.
Night lamp. Bedroom. You in your night robe combing your hair. Finishing a chapter in my book. Kids are asleep. You talk about your day at work and how your life changed since you got married and got kids. I rebuttal with how beautiful you still are especially when you have no make up on. I brought you back on the youthful things you forgot you still have in your heart. We start to reminisce about some unforgettable dates we had, films we watched, and escapes we did. I left the room a bit to get some spoons and the leftover vanilla ice cream we had that dinner. We scooped, ate and laugh quietly in peace. Infinity.
Today I tried not to worry about anything. I tried to be grateful for everything. I laid on the floor and listened to my dog’s heartbeat.
This one’s for the lonely child
Brokenhearted, running wild
This was written for the one to blame
One who believe they are the cause of chaos and everything
You may find yourself in the dead of night
Lost somewhere up in the great big beautiful sky
You were all just perfect little satellites
Spinning round and round this broken earthly life
This is so you’ll know the sound
Of someone who loves you from the ground
Tonight you’re not alone at all
This is me sending out my satellite call
Words and Music by Sara Bareilles