Love, 2014

It has been a year, since a post has come up, a year since I've had a reasonably level head to put things together, into coherent perspective, a year since I've had enough courage to accept the occurrence of another major setback in my life and a year since that embrace. My long overdue annual report is here.

Love

In 2014, for the first time in my life, I fell in love.

I fell in love with a girl so flawed, yet so perfect. A girl who gave me the chance of experiencing what bliss feels like, but brought with her immense pain and suffering. A girl who was a special friend and an unknowing teacher. A girl who taught me about love, but was still learning how to love. A girl whom I realised I not only like, but love so deeply.

I learnt about what it meant to fall in love, having a lack of control and consciousness over the matter. But I also learnt about what it meant to truly be in love. Similarly, it does not involve a conscious choice or effort to love. It just happens. As you walk down the street, do household chores, complete a homework assignment, drive a car or lie in bed, a part of you never stops loving. It does not cease, no matter what happens, no matter how hard you try to push it away or forget. It is persistent, selfless, sacrificial, noble and unconscious. Loving someone isn't a choice you can make.

Love is irrational. It made me do things I shouldn't or wouldn't have. There were things I did that I can't explain or justify. Some were simply out of character, some I wouldn't do for just anyone and some I would do for only that someone. It has this ability to empower, motivate and serve as an impetus to do something, usually crazy or stupid.

Love sacrifices. All my life, I have sought for a life filled with simplicity and honesty. But it took a while for me to finally give in and accept that sometimes the type of life you want doesn't always pan out. Sometimes, life chooses you instead. Some people are born into a life carrying burdens, marred by complexity and deceit. And there is no escaping it. For the greater good, these chosen ones have to hold secrets to their deathbeds, tell white lies all their life and wear different masks for different situations. As much as they hate that kind of life, they aren't given a choice. How would one weigh the consequences of revealing entrusted secrets while conflicting personal values of transparency and honesty?

Some things were always meant to happen, waiting to happen. Innocuous bread crumbs were laid out for years and it only needed someone inquisitive enough to investigate and solve yet another mystery. If something is never meant to be found, it wouldn't even be possible to have a sniff at it, no matter how hard you try. But if that something is exposed almost effortless, or even by chance, isn't it curious? Did it happen for a reason? Why does everything seem so coincidental? Why do such things happen over and over again?

Sacrifice

I remember writing an unpublished post on what the two years of conscription and overlapping university education have done to our young males and females. I wrote about how fascinated I was to see my female friends change over the course of their university lives while I was still serving out my national duty. It is like a controlled scientific experiment involving two population sets, with the males being kept in isolation from the world as a control while the females are the targeted variables. From the topics, to lingos, jargons, the manner of speech, the thought process that led to the sentences formed and the words unspoken, everything changed. I noticed that their behaviour changed drastically, as they became more comfortable with the opposite gender. I sensed maturity, tactfulness, the glaring passiveness and femininity. Unlike the teenage girls who tended to group in packs that I was used to seeing, they seemed to pick up skills to better get along with boys. They started to complement well and I was fascinated by these changes.

After what I have witnessed, I entered university with high hopes, naively thinking that it was simply a coming of age for everyone. I thought this is the stage where everyone grows and matures together. But it was only when I encountered problems with her that I realised things weren't as simple as it seemed.  

People don't grow as they become a day older. People grow because they experience new things and learn new lessons with each passing day. People grow when others help them to grow.

I was on this side, looking on to the other side. Watching and waiting for that mysterious someone to appear and save the situation. That someone who would serve as a mentor, a teacher, a friend, to impart knowledge, provide wisdom and guidance. That someone who did so well to help my female friends mature during their university stint. That miracle saviour who would mediate and mitigate.

I waited and waited but he never appeared. Days, weeks, months, it dragged on and on. I finally broke. It took me so much to realise, no one was coming. No one had the chance to get close enough to her to understand what needs fixing. No one knew the remedy concoction better than I do. It had to be me who takes the brave step up, to say and do something in her interest to help her grow, so that those boys in isolation would be able to see what I saw in my female friends. Even if it meant that I had to be sacrificed or be the bad guy, the thought of her learning something valuable from our experience makes everything worthwhile. I may not have the chance to see the transformation for myself, but what's more important is that she is able to find happiness in future after learning from today's lessons.  

Pain

Yes, throughout the entire process I suffered badly. I took hit after hit after hit. I was so confused and tormented that I almost went mad. And with other ongoing concurrent issues, I was on the verge of depression. It was real. 2014 was the highest and also the lowest point in my life.

Throughout that semester, I was like a moping zombie who dragged myself to school only to hide in the corner and have lonely lunches. I would attend lectures and tutorials but midway through, my mind would start wandering and my body swell with sadness. I couldn't absorb any material, and instead spent all my time reflecting, churning out tons of literature ranging from romance to death and hanging on to the strand of sanity that remained.

Summoning whatever was left, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself one day and attempted to fix things. I wasn't about to let problems linger on and continue suffering without an answer. So I confronted in hopes of salvaging everything, but who knew, it ended up with the worst possible scenario. My world came crashing down.

That day she walked away, a part of me died. That image of her back view getting smaller and smaller till it disappeared, is something  I will never forget. The type of pain is indescribable. I was utterly crushed and destroyed. I was numbed, my skin couldn't feel anything. My mind went blank as I became light-headed, and even my body felt lighter. It felt hollow, as if my soul had drifted away.

As I was ripped right apart then, I was as good as dead. But surprisingly, not completely. Some part remained. Somehow, my instincts and unconscious took over. Logically, I had all the reasons to feel sorry for myself, blame her for the inflicted pain and be filled with angst.  But I didn't. I found myself thinking of her, thinking about how miserable and hurt she would be. And how she would be left questioning all of this that happened. I was prepared to head home and soak myself with tears, but I realised my purpose. I had to tell her the truth. I had to explain all of this. I had to tell her what she meant to me because there is too much implicit notions going on. 

So I did. Even in my deathbed, I would fulfil my duties. Even if I die, I want to die for something. And when I die, I don't want that day to be a regret of words I never said.

There was a point in which I tried to make a last ditch attempt to halt this landslide, to create a final chance for us, but nothing worked in my favour. Today, part of the plan, the intended birthday gift sits in the corner of my room, reminding me of this love and what it could have been. It reminds me of this one and only girl who mesmerized and stole my heart.

Healing

Even as the storm past gradually, day after day, I didn't get better. I was just as depressed and dejected. I thought I was going to fail my exams because nothing else was going into that dysfunctional mind. I locked myself up, spent time alone, stopped replying messages and isolated myself from the world. I became cold and aloof. The 4 year long work towards becoming a better, more social and open person was entirely reversed. I was all alone in a dark, dark world fighting a lonely personal battle.

Fortunately, a timely distraction entered the frame. Exchange came along and I was thrown into an entirely different environment. I had to complete tasks and it kept me going, distracting me from all the suffering. I tried to forget and it worked for a while, for a good month or two. As I was surrounded by constant upbeat company, it prevented me from falling even deeper into that dungeon of depression.

However, during that period, I lived without a purpose and as such, I was truly fearless for I had nothing to lose any more. The time when I skydived, I thought even if the chute doesn't open and I died, it makes no difference and it could even be better for there would not be any more pain and suffering. I remembered the moment I jumped off the plane, I felt so free, limitless, invincible yet so small and insignificant. We are just pawns in this magnificent, wondrous world of possibilities. The powerful Mother Nature could crush us effortlessly in an instant and it doesn't even matter.

With the intervention of the distractions, I thought I have finally gotten over her and healed from those wounds. But some time in between, one day, someone brought her up and everything came flooding back. Everything reminded me of her and the times we had. The songs we shared, the places we went, the stuff we did.  Every night before I fall asleep, she would be on my mind and occasionally appearing in dreams that I wished were real, like how we were before. While my solo travels were therapeutic, there were countless times I wished she was by my side, each time thinking about how she would have enjoyed the same symphonic performance, stunning view or spontaneous outdoor activity.  

I looked back at those journal entries I wrote for each time we met, recording every little detail I picked up as I got to know her. I wrote about learning to listen, watch, observe, accept, groom and love. I listed out the many differences we had but marvelled at how well we complemented each other. I wrote about how innocent those smiles were and those laughter, genuine. I noted how happy we both were, we were practically glowing. I dreamt of a future together.

After her, I don't know whether I can love the same way again. To fall as deeply and love as much, as unconditionally. To have the patience to understand, capacity to accept and love. I don't even know whether I have the ability to love again. When you have given all of your heart and have nothing left, what else is there to be shared with someone else? What can you do as a walking dead?

Considering how broken I was, exchange did wonders for a man without a beating heart. I walked, travelled and spoke to people. I was shoved into different situations, like hot iron thrown into cold water and melted once again in the furnace. I have learnt even more, to become a better person, to appreciate more, to understand, empathise and adapt. All of that wouldn't have been possible without the people who helped me whether knowingly or not. I am grateful to those who stayed by my side, even when I drowned myself in solitude. Those who still came knocking on my door periodically to check that I was still breathing. Those who have been through similar ordeals and could provide matured advice and insights. Those who reminded me that even in this society, even with my personality, I still have friends. And of course my family, who was always there to provide comfort, joy and annoyance. They are the epitome of unconditional love which I can only hope to recreate and share.

Today, I do feel better but I am still not recovered. My wounds are still opened, perhaps not as raw, but I'm making the effort to bounce back. I do not have the luxury of time to heal. For each day I choose to rot away in darkness, the globe continues to spin. The world does not revolve around me. I need to move on, catch up even with discomfort, wounds and disability because I don't have the valid excuse of being dead, at least not yet. 

I am still alive because of people. People who think I am worth something to them. People I think are worth living for. The dream to one day live for myself continues, and it would only come true when I find myself smiling as unreservedly as last summer.

Longing

It has been a year, and I still miss her every single day. I miss her so badly. But all I have now are precious memories of those little details of her. My brain has become nothing but a data recorder, containing clips replaying on playback. I miss that little dance she did when she was feeling happy and carefree. That death stare when I teased her. Those creases on the edge of her eyes when she smiles. The way she walks, talks, and her distinct alluring scent. I particularly love watching as she stares blankly into space, thoughts in a land far far away. She's a dreamer, a visionary, full of creative ideas that never fails to amuse me. Her innocence, poise, elegance and class makes her stand out. But it's her unique past that has shaped and made her so different from everyone of us. Stories untold and unspoken, stories I can only imagine when I look into those eyes. She's one of a kind. There's no one like her.

I wish I could be by her side, to help when needed, and guide when lost especially since we are similar in so many aspects. While I do not have much intelligence, I have some experience and I know some paths are better off not taking.  

Hope

Looking back, perhaps it was a good thing that we were set apart. The space created gave me the time to really think, and reflect about this entire experience. The past months without interaction became a test of my feelings for her. And there was only one result. I love who she was, who she is, who she is not and who she is bound to be. I became sure of it.

People always talk about letting go of things that hurt, especially when it involves rampant continuous blind stabbing. The talk about finding people who appreciate you, put you on a pedestal, adore and accept you as who you are. It's all about yourself, all about what people do to you. But what about your actions to others? Are you able to stop thinking about yourself once in a while, instead giving the appreciation and adoration to others? Are you able to look pass the layers of armour and understand what's going on? Are you able to identify and recognise an uncut gem that you come across? Will you do what it takes to hold on to it? Or do you let it slip through your fingers, ever so easily?  

I hold on firmly to the hope that she becomes the woman she was always meant to be. That people around her would be kind enough to groom this work in progress. She is different, and could easily be written off as a misfit in this one dimensional society, someone strange or weird. But she's trying, still building up her identity, striving to uphold values of her own. Freedom and independence, powerful values that have started wars and claimed lives. A tug of war between being carefree and bugged by responsibilities. A struggle to understand being independent doesn't mean being alone, that even the strongest need help from others once in a while. And that no matter how strong, we all need a shoulder to cry on. 

Undeniably, I hold on to the hope that one day we could visit those places we were due to go but never made it. To live up to the intended status and fulfil the roles we were made to fill. And to finally stop holding back emotions and actions that do nothing but stifle and suffocate. I don't have the privilege of possessing much, only hope.

In the given time frame, I played my part, I tried my very best. On hindsight, there was really nothing more I could do and I have no regrets. Even if it turns out that I am not going to be the one to reap the fruits of labour, I will be happy if she is truly happy. No doubt, there will be a feeling of sour and bitterness, but ultimately I will be contented.

If it turns out that it was something I did that broke us, I can only blame myself for my ineptness. I am only a limping man with overwhelming emotions, already wielding a lifetime of injuries and scars, perhaps I wasn't strong enough for her. I couldn't withstand the pain that came with that beautiful package and I don't deserve her. She needs someone as endearing as E, as vivacious as V and as persistent as P. Someone strong enough to withstand the blows, be the defender, protector and unwavering pillar through the seasons. Someone good with words, eloquent and deliver messages without contempt but with wisdom and intelligence. Someone with the emotional quotient to balance honesty and subtleness. Someone that I wasn't.

I remember as I was typing those final words of my note to her, my vision was blurred with clogged up tears. Even though those words were genuine, it hurt so much to convince myself I had to let her go. I had to force myself to believe that I was hated, despised, disliked, loathsome, irritating, a pest and an epic fall from grace. I tried so hard to let go that I stabbed myself even more. I had to strain hard to transform the warped mind to a rational one just to believe letting go was the right thing to do. But all of it was still not enough to eradicate those overpowering positive feelings.

I don't intend to seek my heart back from her. In any way, it isn't a such a simple and straightforward task. And so I have accepted that I can never fully recover, because the void created will never be filled and I can't be whole again. I realised that I don't even seek for the closure that I've yearned for so long. I realised that maybe it's better to let things be, opened to possibilities. Maybe, what we need is just hope, hope that one day you'll finally get to see the end of the rainbow.

And it would all be worth it.  

You are perfect to me, but with my troubles, I will never be good enough for you.