etc etc etc

this morning i woke up with an inexplicable sadness. not despair, or devastation, or misery. just an all round, calm and quiet blue.

i read my bible, and i prayed. but my feelings remained the same. i asked God to give me joy and peace to make it through the day, but there was only silence.

in the car on the way to work my mother talked but i couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. i wanted to think, and to reason out why i was feeling as i did.


to be sure, i did and do actually know the exact particular reason and cause, but, well, i wanted to know why now of all days. i wanted to drag myself over the same old arguments i'd been battling with in my mind these past few weeks. just to draw the same blood again and have the hard facts held right up to my face again if just to firmly acknowledge again and again: yes, this is happening. yes, i am bleeding. yes, i know logically how this is working. yes, yes, yes, i'm not mistaken.

i've realised that i need these reminders because sometimes when i'm not careful, i pretend that everything is absolutely fine.

***

have you ever felt like you have wanted something for a very long time, and finally, when some semblance of it comes along your hopes are raised and you get excited and you think, "this is finally it!" only to realise that it's not actually what you need and want and you're bitterly thrown back into the station of being without?

there are so many things in life that i personally hope for. this is normal, isn't it? but there is this one thing in particular that i've been wanting for so long. something i've seen and foolishly wished i could possess. but of course, we don't always receive what we want.

i fear it is all so stupid. desires are so laughable. there are days (i.e every day) that i wish i had no feelings at all so that i wouldn't need to care about anything. i wish i could rip my heart out and live emotionally dead. wouldn't that be the day! i could do whatever i needed without the additional encumbrance of emotional inclination.

but as always, i am this horrible mess of feelings and passion. until the day i die i will be like this; voices from my childhood decrying my feelings haunting me always. but alas, i am straying from my original thought.



so here i was, having thought that i had finally attained what i had always wanted. but like with most things in your typical everyday life, it was not meant to be. my life isn't a movie, lmao. i have all the internal emotional stress of a soap opera and the tangible dramatic reality of a piece of white bread.

i asked God if this was what he wanted for me; if what i imagined was my lot in life was really and truly for me. at first i heard nothing, and things seemed ok. i was happy for that. no news is good news isn't it? i had my misgivings in the beginning, but i thought i could learn to live with them if this was what God had in store for me.

yet i kept on seeking Him, and asking Him to reveal what He really wanted for me. then finally, finally, God spoke.


and He said "No."


i'll admit a conflict rose within me to accept it. maybe i heard wrong. maybe i was hearing voices in my head. but again i heard it, the Lord said no. and then again once more. i finally had to learn to accept that this put paid to it. it was over. hope was stifled. at least, in regards to this particular object.


so this ought to be the end of it! but my feelings, like the horrible parasitic worms that they are, wriggling tirelessly beneath my skin, continue to ravage my heart and burrow holes in my rationality. the truth is laid bare before me! there are no more questions to be answered for me! but like a fool i keep on coming back to this tired old issue, as if poking a dead rat with a stick in the hopes of bringing it to life. what more do i want from this?!

***

the matter is over. fully and completely, it is finished. what is left is only the bit where i struggle to put my heart on mute.


shut up, feelings. be silent, heart. you make me absolutely sick. begone away with you! leave me to live in logic and reason. 

is there even a point in reacting this way?


i don't know how i will feel tomorrow. yesterday i was ecstatic, and today i am weak with melancholy. disappointment has a strange way of manipulating my sentiments. etc.
etc.
etc.

automatic enervation

i can't believe how emotional i am. sure, i've been rather a crybaby even from childhood, but it's ludicrous to imagine how deeply sensitive and constantly afflicted my heart is in instances of even the gentlest outside stimuli.

there! there goes my heart again, the chief villain of all my struggles. i swear my heart is the most cruel organ within my body to ever get me into the most wretched mischief. in all my life, and in all of my greatest trials, my heart has always been somewhere there in the thick of the action, wreaking havoc in every possible manner.

i cannot believe how inordinately emotional i am. it still strikes me with distraction how witlessly emotional i am every single day. of course, not all emotions are bad. obviously. but how emotional can i be until i cannot be emotional anymore? what is my limit? what is my maximum capacity for being overwhelmed?

for a while last year, i had a few brushes with the suggestions of love. Not divine, beautiful, sparkling love, but your ordinary, aching, arresting but retrospectively dull crush. let's not try to pretend these never happen, for alas! invariablement, they do. even my very last entry was based upon good ol' preposterous infatuation. yet people prefer singularly to talk about such subjects in private because to be honest, these things are downright embarrassing.

anyway, what i've noted is that in the event of such, my first reaction is to lose ownership of all sense and reason. if anyone was a poster child for lack of logic there i would be. it's even been a common observation amongst my acquaintances my terrible silliness in the face of emotional possession that i also attest to.

in that time, i fancied myself a tragic heroine. i fancied myself thrown into a whirl of terror and joy and excitement. i fancied myself in love. all because i fancied the idea of who somebody was. it was fun, it was thrilling, it made me sing everyday. also, it gave me something to do.

the irony of everything is how i complain about my feelings and then feel disappointed when i don't feel anything. i fear my emotional levels have reached the very highest heights of puerility. i enjoy my emotional highs, indulge myself until i am sick, fall into a lull of disillusionment, and then feel bored and crave a reason to feel again. the proverbial vicious cycle.

i wish i could control my emotional inclinations. everything is so unpredictable. what am i going to feel next? being so volatile is so dangerous. sometimes feelings just creep up on you. there is a person i rather disliked a few months back, and i didn't want to have anything to do with him. but then suddenly, out of nowhere, without any effort on my part, i became frightened, because i felt something growing within myself that found me not indisposed towards him.

feelings are terrifying! and how i overdose on them! how very honestly tiresome it is. i wish i were more logical and reasonable. sometimes i am so stupid because of my emotions that i am shocked at myself. i wonder if a girl who feels too much is bore. sure, inside she's having the time of her life, but don't the people around her feel exasperation at all her sighs and tears and lengthy blog posts that never end.......................

i envy people who are dominantly rational. i wish i could feel as the stoic do. it must be terribly lovely to not be plagued by rapid heartbeats and indescribable floatings in your chest and achings at the very sight of a name.. oh my word the floatings! the floatings! they haunt me so. i can't even begin to describe how when i end up ~feeling~ i start having such strange sensations within me so much so that i can barely breathe. either that or i probably have a feelings induced medical problem, but that's besides the point! my heart suddenly possesses a wispy, cloudy, translucent vapour that tickles me from the inside and then i ache and ache and ache.

what a tedious business feeling is.

i find that at the end of these posts i always end up trying to tie things up nicely, like oh, but its ok, i will do better etc etc etc. i write these things sincerely, but sometimes (like now!) i don't want to write that. feelings plague me! they trouble my peace..! and so?

So?


i wish i could act on my feelings, but most of the time convention says i shouldn't. the main torture for me is having to bottle them up and muffle their impact. i want to unleash them, to throw them to the sky like colourful confetti or torrential rain. i want to express, to shout, to sing, to dance, to hug and kiss and laugh and cry.

b u t   i   c a n n o t !

i have to be proper. i have to be controlled.
that's why i war with my feelings. they build up so rapidly within me and there is no place to let them go. then i have to stuff them into my mouth and wait for them to melt, all the while being almost suffocated to death.

take this cup away from me Lord! or is this my thorn to bear? i don't know why He made me with this ridiculous propensity. oh Lord. these copious feelings are such a ride.

oh,
 well.



such is life.


at times like these all i want to do is beat my chest, crying out piteously, "woe is me!"







...but then there i'd go again.

expedient sensibilities

our minds will never meet.

at least, thats what i fear. but there's just something about you. something exciting and thrilling and colourful that makes my heart throb and spin and dance.

from the beginning i felt drawn to you. long before i had ever spoken to you or you had even come to the conscious realisation of my existence. there was always something about you. possibly it was how kind you seemed, or how sincere you appeared. it has always been my inclination to admire people like you; easygoing and friendly, unjudgemental and confident.

how ludicrous it would be for you if you knew!

my heart is the percentage of myself that always leads me into the very basest idiocy. i never wanted to feel this way. my admiration for you has over time gradually transformed into something i am now ashamed of. how could i be so undignified as to let circumstances influence my soul into feeling this way for you?

please dont misunderstand. i am not perplexed by the thought of anyone being enamoured of you. i can and have imagined how there would be a great number of girls aching inside because of you. such a lovely, precious person you are.

your generosity of spirit, your wonderful intelligence, your skill at making people glad...! how i envy you! and how i deeply and tenderly admire who you are.

but something is wrong.

our minds will never meet. at least, thats what i fear.

my heart easily goes toward you. if you demanded my devotion i would serve it with the greatest ceremony; placed into a box, secured with red ribbon, swathed in the fragrance of my admiration. how my heart overflows! i know myself too well to think i could be logical if i was met with anything like that.

but our minds cannot meet. ive never held conversations with you concerning anything of consequence, and intellectually we are not drawn one to another. i like your character, and your good heart, but there it ends.

i feel i always deceive myself into falling in love when my only basis of feeling is high regard and esteem. i think you are wonderful, so my heart is confused. yet there is little else to command my predilections toward you.

our minds dont meet.

what good does it do anyone when there is affection betwixt two persons, but there is a want for mutual idealogical regard? in this fashion, im an incorrigible idealist. i want hearts to meet, as well as minds. the support of both influences compatibility. but here i feel no compatibility.

in the random chance my heart is not disagreeable to you, i still feel there would be little to carry a lasting regard. and i like you so much that i never want that to happen.

i just want to leave here, then, the establishment of the fact that i esteem you highly, and that i do feel sorry that i should ever have fallen into this trap of hopeless empty affection for you. some days i wish i'd never met you, because of how my heart has reacted to that event. but yet in the chance that i hadnt, i would be forced to forfeit all the happiness ive spent knowing you, and for that i would be reluctant to let go.

nevertheless! in the end it's ok. i've learned so much so far. my heart has invariably taken a beating this time, but i will disallow it to ache or grow callous. i will nurse it back to health like a scheming troublesome child that i must protect, despite my frustrations with it. then finally when i make the decision to well and truly Love, i will remember that it is because my restless, overthinking, passionate mind has
finally
been
met.

stains of circumstance

i just want to write, and write, and write, and write.

i have feelings within me, strong feelings, warring feelings, painful feelings--- all bubbling inside of me, threatening to injure me if i don't let them out. they're ripping at me from my very soul; scratching at the cage of my body to be released.


i'm scared of them. and yet i don't quite know just what they are.

they are like shadowy monsters; shifting and looming, shapeless and screaming. they threaten me, and cut me, and antagonise who i am. they are familiar. i know these feelings.

what are their forms? what are their names?

they have no names. they just have impact. and i recognise them.


i hate the way i feel. i hate these feelings that come back every day to haunt me. small things set off large ones.

these feelings overpower me, and make me weak in my body; in my stomach, in my head, in my heart.

my heart is the culprit. he is the one that is betraying the rest of me. he has opened the door and let those shadowy figures in. they always wait outside for the smallest sliver of a chance to dash in and ruin me.

my father has always said to me, "alyssa, control your emotions." so i stand up and box them all in. i wrap cellophane tape around them. i tie them up tightly into a bundle. hoping and hoping.


i have tried. effort upon effort. stuffing my feelings into the closet of my consciousness, i whisper don't come out. don't come out. don't come out.

they pound against the door and shriek at me.

my whole life is a battle against my own flesh.

my own heart.

i'm frightened of the way it makes me respond to what is happening outside of me. the clash and the conflict that occurs when i feel a certain way and the things around me don't match with what i want and everything becomes a jumbled, ugly, blotchy mess.


"stop being so dramatic, alyssa"

"but i can't control the way i feel."

"don't let your feelings control you then!"


i take a deep breath. i hit my fist against my chest to quieten the noise.

"stop feeling," i hiss to myself. "go away."


it feels like being ignored. always it's hard to keep the closet locked. i feel the doors will break.

everyday i cannot pinpoint what these feelings are. they are always rioting within me but i cannot identify their origin. anger? sadness? despair? misery? loneliness? pride?

they will always be inexplicable.







" s u r r e n d e r   i t   t o   G o d . "

i want to cry. i don't want to open the doors. i don't want to unfasten the box, to tear off the cellophane, and the string, and let them roam free. what if they seep into my brain, and infect my logic? what if they take hostage of my muscles, and command me, like a wooden puppet?

my fears mingle with the disorder. my body loses strength as i push to resist.





" s u r r e n d e r . "

i open the doors, slowly, gingerly. quickly i cover my eyes to protect them from attack.

yet there is no rapid fluttering of bats wings or swarms of flies rushing towards dead flesh. the feelings ooze out, like mud. they disgust me and the smell is unbearable. notwithstanding i bend down and i scoop them up, reeking but powerless, and throw them to God.

"here! take these horrible creatures and make me free from them."

God reaches to embrace me, and my heart stops sneering at me, subdued.

i sob as relief floods the chambers. i toss the mud away, out the window, into the bin, away away away. as the sun peeks in the room is illuminated and the old feelings are nothing to me.

i don't keep them anymore. God takes control of them, and they cannot control me.


perhaps i am free.





some days the feelings come back. they multiply like maggots and try to wriggle in under the door. sometimes they hide inside, growing steadily, and i have the inclination to trap them in my closet again.

but always that voice comes to me, clearly and sweetly.
"surrender."
"surrender."
" s u r r e n d e r . "

then i open the closet again.

and i am free.

retro feelings

hahahaha i was lately presented the privilege of a blog tag by the marvellous carissa morais; something that was All The Rage way back when millennials' main source for social media was in blogging, and in the times when inspiration hit a low, the activity of answering questions from a tag was a welcome way to finally get a new blog post up (ahem ahem what i'm doing now ahem)

ok!!! enough with my introductory paragraphs! (cambridge exams really did me in; i can never write something without first suffering myself to add an intro x.x)

tagged by carissa morais ♡

A. Attached or single? let me meet a decent boy first thx

B. Best friend? my little sister lauren; but i doubt she's aware that i've targeted her lmao

C. Cake or pie? pie if it begins with the word 'shepherd's'

D. Day of choice? probably friday? 

E. Essential item? tissue paper hahaha

F. Favourite colour? yellow! 

G. Gummy bears or worms? worms i find are so much more satisfying to bite because of their lovely long bodies plus worms can be dual flavoured mmmmmmm

H. Hometown? petaling jaya forever my love

I. Favorite indulgence? maggi mee asam laksa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

J. January or July? january; because a new year always holds so much promise!

K. Kids? as many as i can physically & financially support hahahahahahahaha

L. Life isn't complete without? people to love ♡

M. Marriage date? sometime in the beginning of the year would be So Lovely ♥.♥

N. Number of magazine subscriptions? zero....... 

O. Oranges or apples? apples ✿

P. Phobias? dead animals and unfamiliar social situations :-( also slightly agoraphobic

Q. Quotes? “we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” - oscar wilde 

R. Reasons to smile? the knowledge that everybody was a baby once hahaha

S. Season of choice? rainy season!

T. Tag 10 people. :-( i have no one to tag let alone ten :-(

U. Unknown fact about me? sometimes i find bruises on my body that i don't remember acquiring

V. Vegetable? pea sprouts are my darlings

W. Worst habit? immediately panicking when faced with unfavourable situations and/or using the term 'lmao'

X. X-ray or ultrasound? ..........ultrasounds are more agreeable to me than x-rays............. (i don't understand this question lmao)

Y. Your favourite foods? BUTTERED BREAD, PASTA, SMOKED/RAW SALMON

Z. Zodiac sign? taurus?? but idk the significance of zodiac signs


He/she will have to come up with 7 interesting or random facts about themselves 
and then tag 7 other people to do the tag challenge. 

1. i have a chip on my front tooth from walking into a door in a mcdonalds T.T
2. i can watch the '05 pride & prejudice movie repeatedly without getting bored 
3. if you leave me at home all by myself i will probably not eat anything the entire day
4. i am anglophile Trash
5. the founder of uniqlo is japan's richest man and it's probably bc of me
6. i have a prejudice against Apple Users but i lov my iphone
7. i hate drinking pu er

tagging...? i have very few blogger friends :-( uhhhhhhhh

ok you're tagged if i've ever used 'lmao' with you no arguing i love you bye

like a bird to a crumb

i wish i could tell you that i liked you. i don't want you to know i like you, but i want you to know that somebody loves you. there's somebody out there throbbing in her heart because of you. i wonder how that would make you feel.

aren't you great? you're clever and handsome and popular and everyone likes you. will it flatter you to know that someone loves you? or will the information be like another postcard in your crowded letterbox? just a reinforcement of your ego? or will it scare you? will it be obvious it is me?

there is so much i'm curious about. i'm curious about who was the last person you loved, or the person you love now. is she as heartbreakingly wonderful as you? is she horribly intelligent? is she exquisitely pretty? does she love you back?


this is ridiculous. i don't love you. i'm enamoured, infatuated, excited, blinded and fascinated. i'm not willing to die for you. i'm not going to give you my life or my heart. i only have admiration and fondness for you. you are like a castle built in my heart, a dream in my consciousness. you're just a boy that everyone loves, and i have fallen into your net. only you never cast a net for me.

someday i might regret how much sentiment i allotted you. maybe one day i'll wish i'd kept this affection for someone more meaningful and important to me.

you're not unimportant, but there's no hope of ever making you love me anyway. and if in the millionth of a chance you did, my love for you is not heavy enough to anchor something to last.

i'm just a silly little girl with a silly little crush. my heart is a faintly beating, weak, small object swayed by the idea of you. insignificant... meagre... senseless... trivial... all this is nothing. like an itch, a cut, a bite, it matters now, it brings feeling now, it occupies the present...... but in the big picture,

it is emptiness.

mbti crap

i just need to share this somewhere-- my guesses for lovelyz mbti. only relevant to people who care lmao.

in clouds

hello, i have returned. albeit for only a short while, or perhaps for a new string of long-winded grievances. it depends on my future sentiments..........

anyway, lately i have been bothered immensely by something...... it's been going on ever since the new year started, and i've been wanting to try and sort it out in writing these last few weeks. i never actually got around to doing it though, owing to the fact that i either wasn't at the right place (i.e in the shower, in class, half asleep etc.), or just wasn't particularly feeling it. yet today i have finally slipped into the closest possible opportunity, and now here i am, trying to muddle through my horribly wearying but burdensomely necessary Introduction.  but at long last it is now lengthy enough to be satisfactory and i'm desiring to thank you for bearing with me, since i haven't actually written anything worth reading yet, lmao

OK!! the thing i laboriously have been contending with lately is my feeling of bluffing my way through life. i don't know whether this is a result of my less than adequate self image or whatever but this has been Eating Away At Me in recent days, and it's really frightening.

a lot of my life, many people have taken pains to tell me that they believed i was artistic or creative or rather clever at certain things, and of course, since i've always welcomed compliments (them being a sort of weakness with me), i thanked those people and seemingly went on living. yet those words, after being said to me, impudently lodged themselves deeply into my soul, and built up a sort of mental image of myself that i feel i now have to live up to and maintain.

please don't misunderstand, i really do feel touched when people say kind things about my abilities, but sometimes i think people do flatter me.

after making a few pretty pictures and cards once in a while within my tiny life span, some people around me seem to now have this perception of me: that i am some sort of artiste with skills and imagination. once when someone kindly assured me that she believed i was creative, unanticipatedly it felt like warning bells had suddenly broke into the tranquillity of my thoughts. in the throes of my dismay my first thoughts were, "oh no please don't believe that! i really am not!"

now i find that these sorts of notions really terrify me. it makes me so afraid to think that for all my life i have been accidentally bluffing people into believing that i'm actually greatly accomplished, when i'm so very far from it!

now another contributor to my anxiety comes from people who think i'm very good at language. while i do admit i'm better at language than anything else i'm able to do, i'm still afraid that i really am Not what others think i am. does that make sense? i am good at english, and i adore words and the intricate meanings and uses they potentially hold, but there are times when people speak to me about linguistics and then my heart abruptly feels all stopped up, with the fear that i might scandalously bungle.

like for instance when people compliment my writing or my knowledge-- instead of being pleased and complimented now i'm immediately transported into a panic. what if that person who just said a kind word to me lives to regret it? what if my inadequacy is suddenly revealed, and everything positive people believed about me is to shown to be false?

you might think that this is obviously my pride speaking here, and i realise that i am giving way to some of the conducts of my ego. yet can no one honestly acknowledge a life lived without some fear of certain people's opinions, if not everyone's? and don't you think if i continue to live like this that i am being deliberately deceitful?

i am desperately afraid that i am not what people think i am; desperately afraid i have led everyone in a merry dance to considering that i'm up to standard though i'm not; desperately afraid that i have given others reason to believe that i am good when i am ghastly.

i am scared i am not as solid as i believed i was, and fearful that i have unwittingly defrauded all my acquaintances in the process. what can i do now, but to tell everyone not to expect too much of me?

this seems to be the very apple of discord between me and those around me. i'm afraid the people i know expect me to be a certain way when i know i am just barely living up to my own standards.

in university i always make sure to try to answer my lecturers' questions. in church i always try to be as good a specimen of a person as possible, so that my parents and sisters won't be ashamed of me. wherever i go i do my best to keep myself as aloof and collected so that no one will be able to see the worms of my fears and discontentments with myself, wriggling hideously in the pit of my stomach.

i fiercely want to be the Correct and Proper Person of My Dreams and Aspirations, but i'm afraid that in the process of my parade, something is going to sneak from behind me and snatch off the mask that i have been hiding behind.

is it right for me to feel this way? is it proper to strive to be better, even when you feel like you are a walking abyss on the inside? is it proper to allow people to believe you are respectable and skilled, even when you yourself are staunchly doubtful of yourself?

is it Right to let people carry on thinking that you are capable, when your own estimation says you really aren't? what is the line between being self-deprecating, and being truly unconvinced of your own ability?

i am as riddled with questions as i am with fears, and unfortunately, right now i don't think i have the answers. i want to be free of my quandary as soon as i can, but i cannot pretend now that i hold the solutions to my own troubles.

oh Jesus, please show me what i am to do.

le péan

some weeks ago i found this poem i wrote in 2013 based on 1 john 5:14. i thought it was rather lovely, and i decided to share it here (good job, 18 year old alyssa).

1 john 5:14 (nivuk)

this is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.

God hears:
in quiet-- in confusion
in darkness and light
in anger or sorrow
in the day or at night

in bliss and in boredom
if i sit or stand
resting or working;
at sea or on land

in shame or in glory
with companion or alone
afraid or courageous
in health or sick moan

always, always with me--
understanding and wise;
though i fall or stumble
in all lows and highs

God hears.

my ringlet of chagrin

believing in God as i have always done my whole life, up until now i've always trusted that if anything befell me or was a certain way with me it was because God had a special reason or purpose for it. now don't worry, this isn't some kind of crisis of faith post but today while i was doing the laundry i hit on something that totally perplexed me.

now if you've ever had the misfortune of having to meet me and to know what i'm really like you'd understand that i am terribly, passionately and irrevocably in love with language. i've recently had some conversations about how language is so important to me and how language isn't any old commodity but the most wonderful art and decoration upon your life and how people who don't appreciate language Just Don't Get It and are quite frankly not people i care to give my whole heart to anymore.

the thing that confounded me so deeply was the fact that i am me, this language drunk person, filled with words and an intense affection for things that are beautiful and exquisite and fascinating-- and yet i am here, in malaysia, where 90% of the population is hung up on everything else.

i don't mean this as an insult to the country-- it's a decent country, with fairly decent people, and enough pretty things to pass any low, basic standards of... art.

why am i here! why am i malaysian! why am i doomed to live here forever!

it's not a personal thing! don't take offence at me. it's not that i hate this place and desperately want to escape (no i probably do). i just don't fit in.

and no! this is not a post about how i feel so insecure and out of place but just why am i like this!?

why in the world did God choose to make me so enamoured of language and then drop me off in this land where beauty is just an afterthought or not even a thought at all! you know, i'm not complaining about the country here. i'm lamenting over how i'm even Like  This  !


it doesn't make sense at all! why did God make me so fervent and so bent towards my passions concerning language and beauty and yet put me here in a place so cold towards finesse and the very whiffs of sophistication?

i am Not saying that i am full of charm and elegance and grace, but what's the deal, Lord????

should i abandon myself? should i conform to the dullness and crudeness of malaysian society? should i throw away my love for beauty and deeply thought out language to embrace the place where i stand?

I AM NOT BEING UNGRATEFUL. i am not spitting on the ground where i was born. i am not deriding the hands that hold me. i'm just so confused and at a loss as to why i would be here when i'm so totally out of place.

i want to love it here. i want to belong, and to be proud of where i'm from. i want to say i'm glad to be malaysian, and actually mean it. i like living where i live. i love my family, and i know so many lovely people. just that why does it feel like my interests are not important here, and why is my concern for beauty such a ridiculous thing?

i'm a malaysian, and yet i'm a ludicrous one. i feel so caught between.

i fear i would be too much of a rube in another country, and yet here i feel like i'm not allowed to be myself. i'm in a constant conflict.

oh it's such a silly. i feel like i'm beating a dead horse. there has to be a purpose for why i'm so, and why i'm here, but where is it? where is my purpose? where is my answer for the way things are? so far i suppose i can accept that i'm a middle child, shy, a little insecure and rather ugly, but this really puts a damper on how i see myself.



what is the point?

i still don't know.

not even money

today, for some particular reason, i decided to watch the heiress. i'd already watched washington square some weeks ago and it both intrigued, fascinated and disgusted me. aND Regrettably, i related to catherine sloper.

the rude realisation that apart from the $30,000 inheritance, catherine sloper and i are basically the same person! plain, shy and not particularly clever-- she just screams alyssa koh, but rich.

ben chaplin as morris townsend was pretty blegh in washington square, but montgomery clift in the heiress...!

comparison of leading men for the benefit of my eyes

the most impactful bit about these movies was the way morris townsend courted catherine. oh how my heart broke for her! seeing him so charming and attractive yet with the knowledge that he's a conniving ass you really feel so torn. adding to the pain of catherine being insecure and unsure of herself, i could feel myself being stretched with the desire to see starved-for-love catherine finally drown in affection and the truth.

i must admit it was a bad idea to watch the heiress today. i couldn't even finish the entire film because halfway through i felt too emotional and had to close my laptop and sleep it off. ha ha.

indeed, my day started quite poorly and i felt pretty ridiculous all through class and then when i started watching the heiress it all came home to me and i was in such a state!

olivia de havilland is so lovely, and to see her in a 'plain' character dismayed me because the girl had to be dressed and styled to look unattractive but i don't even need to try and i'm by default, repugnant.

the conclusion of this post is that i shouldn't be watching dramatic movies when i'm feeling emotionally volatile.

empiricism

being the middle child is kind of a drag. while i do my best never to praise myself in public, i have decided, after careful consideration, that i'm a pretty legitimate example of the classic middle child with middle child syndrome.

i was the middle child of three daughters for the majority of my formative years, so it seems that being the middle child has been ingrained into my very being. my middle child role has become such a significant aspect of my character that it has quite substantially shaped me to be who i am right now.

technically, i'm not really the middle child any more. i'm supposed to be the younger older sister of four girls, but to be hair-splittingly honest, i don't think i will ever stop being the middle child. it's on my fingerprints and has been very decidedly stamped onto my forehead.

being the middle child is kind of a drag. being in the middle means that you're constantly forgotten and often neglected. now i'm probably the last person in the world to jump out at any opportunities for attention but hey, i'm still a human like anyone else, and no one in the world totally wants to be left alone and forgotten no matter how moody and crusty they get, especially not with the people they're closest to.

being in the middle just means you're kind of disremembered along the way. sometimes it's a sort of advantage for me, when i'm dying to be left alone-- but within my family, the people that i love and respect, it does slightly hurt.

i love my family. i think i have the best family in the world and my parents are literally better than everyone else's (i have a right to my opinion, OK!!) and my sisters are wonderful and i generally just have the greatest family ever. this then gives me cause to believe very, very strongly that it's not their fault. it's not their fault that i sometimes feel this way because it's just that. the middle child gets forgotten. no family, not even the best one on earth ★coughminecough★, is immune to the ravages of the middle child syndrome.

ok, i admit that there are some families i know who don't seem to have obvious middle children with middle child problems. my personal reasoning for their unfair lack of issues is that these technical middle children probably were a different gender from their siblings, or didn't grow up as the middle among their siblings; like they were probably the family babies in their formative years before their younger sibs came along so they unfairly escaped the torments that we less fortunates went through. anyway, i'm going to forget these people for the rest of this entry because they aren't in the pain club and don't know what i'm talking about and are ultimately irrelevant!

getting back to the main matter, i've noticed that one of the distinct marks of the middle child is that s/he is (or at least feels like) just a filler. the eldest child is the leader, the youngest is the pet, and the middle child is the stuffing. we're just here to make up the numbers. we're the child our parents' friends don't remember; the one who's absence is unnoticed. sometimes we're basically nameless.

don't misunderstand, this is not a pity party! there are also many great things about being a middle child. it's nice to be forgotten when menial tasks need to be done, and when you're meeting parents' friends who are also awful and you can get out of talking to them because they don't care about you (thank God!). i mean, being the middle child is pretty freeing if you think carefully about it. my parents don't fawn over me, and check over everything i do, nor do they expect me to be The Responsible One. i'm at liberty to be myself without the pressure of my parents' constant supervision.

being the middle child is kind of a drag, but it's kind of great too. just like every difficult situation in life, it's an adventure and a challenge, something that moulds you and turns you into something beautiful and unique and special. ok so occasionally my parents forget i exist, and people only know me as so-and-so's sister, and it seems like no one understands me, but in the end, i'm glad i am the middle daughter. i'm glad that i go through all this crap because now i can understand what other people are going through. it's the pits to be forgotten, but now that i know what it's like to be invisible, other people's struggles become clearer to me. i recognise the struggling, and i understand that pain, and i realise that maybe somehow i can be a friend to those who feel like no one cares about them.

i used to think no one loved me at all, and sometimes even now these thoughts come back to me every once in awhile. i know what it feels like to believe the world is against you and that you're the scum of the earth. it's horrible and painful on the inside, and i'm sorry that anyone has to ever feel that way, because i know it feels terrible.

yet i don't regret ever getting to such a point. for their sake i regret doubting my parents and my family and their love for me, but i don't regret the times i spent sighing and crying and aching and sobbing, because these are experiences and exposures that help me to understand the pains that others go through. i am so glad that i have this pathway to empathy. only by having lived the misery do i ever get to genuinely commiserate with people who are hurting inside themselves.

if i had a chance to relive my life i think i'll do it the same way, even if it means that i have to sacrifice my eyes and my tears and the throbs of my heart all over again. i hate being introverted and shy and sensitive, and feeling things so deeply, but if it helps me (though other people have different ways) be a better friend, sister and daughter, then i will happily resign myself to my circumstance, and accept it with a full heart, knowing that it is all for the good will of God who makes everything wonderful and beautiful in His time.

the bolter

recently i've been following the old english drama upstairs, downstairs and it is so absorbing! that's the problem with me, i fall too deeply for these sorts of things.

anyway, yesterday i watched the episode 'the bolter' from season 3 and i got so numbingly upset that today i just needed to let it all out by casting some aspersions.

just some background though, i generally cannot bear mr. hudson, i tolerate mrs. bridges, ruby and richard bellamy, i have a love-hate relationship with rose and james, and i adore hazel and edward. now onto my (potential) tirade...!

all that glitters is probably just false pride

i am such a snob.

but it's desperately complicated. i've been trying to write this entry for ages now but for my own confusion on the topic. what makes me a snob? why exactly am i a snob? and why do i propagate the fact so? lots of times during long car rides, or when i find i cannot sleep, i try to evaluate myself. it gives me something to do, and it's frightfully interesting.

now considering the fact that i don't enjoy talking, i find that thinking is the fastest way for me to scrutinise my character and my situation, and writing helps me to organise my perception of it. i wrote two drafts of this topic and i didn't like them so i discarded them completely (which was a pity, because i had some lovely sentences in there). i'm very particular about how i write and how i portray myself, which is wonderfully fitting for this post because that's the crux of it--- i am a snob.

for a while i thought it was my parents fault, me believing that all parents are solely to blame for their children's faults. but i find it's not true. i have plenty of faults that have nothing to do with my parents, like my being over dramatic and being prone to extreme emotional investment in fiction...!

my parents are really good people, and i honestly mean it. i was sitting in the car with them one morning when i heard them talking about some people that i really did not care for, but my parents were discussing how to help them with full sympathy. as a pastor's daughter you're aware of a lot of things going on in the church. ironically, plenty of scandalous things occur in church, but that's besides the point. plenty of times my parents have proved themselves to be oh so kind and understanding, accepting the most horrible people and being patient with them; even the comments and conversation of people who are prickly and rude being endured by them, and i never hear about them getting offended or making enemies.

so why am i a snob? with such long-suffering parents and indeed very little cause to actually be proud, how did i end up such a snob?

i notice i have this wicked habit of looking down on people, like i believe that am better than them. but why? after some deep contemplation i suppose it has its origins in my extreme pickiness, perfectionism and general distrust & dislike of people. i have hopelessly high standards, and naturally lots of people don't make the cut. my time spent outside of social groups, curiously peering in, lets me observe people, and i rarely like what i see.

it's not that i hate everyone. in fact, i don't hate anyone at all. i just cannot bring myself to like people who don't live up to my high standards of tolerability, and that's about 70% of the people i meet.

now i know it's ridiculously ironic that i, alyssa, stupid and silly as i am, can dare to judge people so. how i know it so! it's all my fault. i'm a snob because i despise myself! and instead of taking on that role of obsequious serf, i go all the other way around, to high and mighty witch.

i have disliked myself for years and years, and have cursed myself an uncountable amount of times. but to keep myself above the reproach of others, i have learned to criticize myself more harshly so that i may justify escaping their hatred. it's come to the point that i have drunk so much of my own derision that i can't bear to take a drop of anybody else's.

on all my previous blogs, this was the topic i'd write about the most. i plagued me so, and i was firmly stuck in the quicksand of my self-contempt and shame. now i do my best to hide it. i try to be dignified and confident. i try to be kind and patient. i try to be funny and charming. i do all this so that i can shield the fact that i'm treading in a swamp of self-loathing and insecurity (and you can't say writing about it on some obscure blog is letting the whole world know about it, ha.)

so i see now that i look down so often on others, because of how harshly i look down on myself. this inferiority complex has been my constant companion for nearly half of my life. i am a snob, because it is my façade. it is my mask, my shield, my disguise. all because it's so much easier to find fault with other people than to just get over yourself.

snobbery briefly suspended

for a really long while in my life, as most people i've had the pleasure of knowing would be aware, i was deeply obsessed with korean culture. to me everything korean was fascinating and stylish and i worshipped korean people and craved korean friendships and dreamed of being like a korean person. i taught myself to read the the korean script and somehow managed to learn basic words and phrases and slang from watching hours and hours of korean television and listening to all sorts of korean music.

with careful calculation and impulsive spending, i worked to dress in the korean way and used korean words in all my conversation and exclamations (though not that i talk to so many people, ha). i bought hundreds of ringgit worth of merchandise and literally plastered my walls with posters. my parents shook their heads and people laughed and when that happened i sulked and glowered.

now that i've suddenly lost kilos of interest in korean culture (although i'm not completely unburdened:--) ), i suddenly understand more clearly the perspectives of almost everyone who thought it necessary to contribute their opinions. when i was drunk on the fascination of the new world and universe of korean culture i firmly believed i wasn't crazy at all. now i'm not implying that korean culture fans are insane, but i see now how ridiculous i was. at least my sister could in all honesty tell people that she was contentedly obsessed, but i denied strong feelings like a teenaged girl trying to hide her secret fancies.

i admit i've almost always been like that. i'm the queen royale of having to eat my own words. i'm forever trying to make up for the silliness of my past. not just my actions, but in my attitude about my actions too. i always thought i was perfectly justified in acting the way i acted, and vehemently renounced any allusions to my behaviour being on the negative edge. i was living in perfect denial.

in my life before i ever began to adore korean nationality, i was viciously against anything asian. i was earnestly the most ridiculous bigot you could ever meet. my sisters always complain that i'm a horrible extremist and as much as i hate to admit it i really truly and honestly am. when i'm cold i abhor the hot and when im hot i detest the cold. thinking seriously about it now, i am appalled. i'm amazed no one gutted me when they had the chance because if i met 13 year old alyssa today i would probably do it myself.

anyway, i can't exactly remember what i was so obsessed with at the time but i just really hated asians with a passion. i was practically a white supremacist! i watched so much western tv and listened to so much western music that i just boxed myself into a grand big hole. i recall a guy from my church exclaiming about asian pride and i remember being so entirely disgusted with him. i could not imagine how any asian could boast in their biological and cultural backgrounds. how could anyone be so nonsensical as to advocate asian pride!?

alas! my life was to change. when i was about 14 years old, some friends of my sisters gave them a korean drama to watch. i thought it was stupid to indulge in such empty frivolity. then slowly, slowly, i became sucked in. the gravity of such gripping drama could not keep itself from laying its hold on me. it was like i was thrown into a blender, my head whirling and my heart being chopped up into little tiny pieces that swirled about with all my broken ideals and opinions until i became an entirely new creature. suddenly, being asian wasn't such a bad thing any more.

as the temperatures of my affections changed, so did my worldview. the west became like a sickly virus i needed to avoid like open sores or cholera. asia was all of a sudden the land of proper, civilised living, and its inhabitants the rightful kings of the earth. there was no culture better than that of the asians. i laugh now, thinking of the rapid changes of my head and heart, but i was serious then. i was suddenly seized with the fever of asian pride. perhaps that guy from church was onto something after all!

the derision of my sisters rained like arrows in a battleground. i knew i was doomed to live in infamy after this drastic change of my viewpoint. "i was a silly little idiot then," i would loftily tell my sisters, while scrolling though pages of k-pop articles. i still understand my feelings from that time, but oh how stupid i feel now!

pride, pride, pride. if i never ate anything all those years i would still be kept sickeningly alive from the steady diet of the fat of my ego. i constantly had to reach into myself and pick out the bugs of my emotions that ate at my insides, souring the integrity and virtue of my character. i had to pay the ultimate price for my arduous & changeable opinions: my dignity.

notwithstanding the fact that this happened quite a while ago, the conflict is still fresh everyday. even since i've moved on from an obsession with korea into a growing fixation with britain (ehem), i need to consciously choke back my opinions and strong feelings on all sorts of issues. i don't know if this can be considered progression or regression but i realise that i share a bit less of myself with others now. i'm afraid of boxing myself again into absolute standards that are completely subjective in the real world. i'm suddenly afraid of being a person that hides her head under a paper mask to try and prove a point.

earlier, i wrote that i now understand the perspectives of different people in a clearer way. i suppose these tumultuous manias have actually served me in the long run. by inadvertently placing myself in such polar situations, i have learned the feelings of opposing sides.

in this case, there are two parties-- the obsessor, and the observer. the obsessor is overcome with feelings. she is so deeply fascinated by the new world she's found herself in that little else matters to her. she will staunchly defend her lifestyle because it is so beautiful and fresh to her and soon it becomes like a cosy and well-worn glove. the obsessor feels like she has found her home.

the observer, however, is on the outside. the observer cannot see the appeal of the obsessor's new life and openly scorns and ridicules it. besides, the life of the obsessor is oozing and starting to get annoying. the observer fails to see the charm of the new life and just sees everything the obsessor does as something silly and useless.

as a shame-faced experiencer of both angles, i realise that they're both perfectly normal and logical and understandable positions, and i'm sure everyone has gone through such at some point in their lives. people do things we can't understand and we disagree. it's normal.

life's like that, i guess; we develop and we change and we realise things about ourselves that we didn't think so deeply about before, and do our best to improve on them. i'm glad that God has given me the grace to see my mistakes and to learn from them (and not to smite me, annoying creature that i was and am still :'--( ). i'm glad that i am able to catch and call out my pride, that which has been so elusive and invisible before.

and i know i haven't totally transformed yet; i'm still a silly little girl with absurd opinions that weed and bloom in my heart, but even then i'm not completely the same. i've decided to learn from my mistakes and to learn to control my passions and overpowering views that toss and change with the wind. as my heart is moulded and set into the person i mature into, i want to throw off my foolishness and be steadfast in all that is good and true, and i will. i don't want to blindly cling to ideals that end up changing my whole self into a manner i know will probably change later. i want to be sensible, and to really be me. i don't want to commit myself to false pretences any more.

for affections and fancies change with every sunrise, but as God has made me, so i shall be, and as genesis 1:31 says, that is very good.

feeble masks but glowing promise

for a long while, i prided myself on being a splendid writer with the most flowing and beautiful language you could imagine. now, as i sit and actually type and read over my sentences, i cringe and have to tie myself to a chair to prevent myself from deleting every trace of myself from the internet.

it's funny, my situation being that i'm the number one critic of all that is written, whether i have the qualifications or not! i can't bear books with poor writing, and i mercilessly laugh at poor grammar. i pride myself on having so much classic literature on my "books read" list, and guiltily keep all my modern literature hidden away at home, certainly not for anyone to find out about!

i admit that i am the chief of snobs, and a most tiresome one at that. but i am tired of my charade. i am tired of trying to hide my silly favourite pastimes. i am tired of trying to present myself as the most distinguished and clever person you will ever meet. it's tiring because it's not real, and it's tiring because everyone else knows it's not real.

of course i want everyone to think me intelligent and witty and classy, but so much of that is not me at all. in all honesty, i'll say that i'm a bumbling, nervous girl with the social graces of a dust bunny. i'm scared of men, and i fear strangers much more than eternal loneliness. i can barely eat lunch with my friends without constantly worrying about gravy stains on my face and little bits of salad wedged in between my teeth, doing the wrong thing and inadvertently offending someone by the way i use my chopsticks.

and oh my deep desire to be beautiful! in malls i make the subconscious effort to cruise by all the mirrors to check if i've suddenly and miraculously transformed into a beauty. of course, 9 out of 10 times i'm bitterly disappointed because i still have oversized lips and a moon face and horrendously veiny skin. yet i pretend that i don't care about looks, and feign nonchalance when people discuss beauty.

i see pretty girls and envy them with a passion and constantly comb through my sister's sns accounts to compare myself with them. i look through old selcas and scrutinise every picture until i get so tired of them that i delete pictures i thought were fine before.

whenever i feel attracted to some guy i try to convince myself to feel otherwise. i wrote in my diary recently about how none of them "deserve the misfortune of my affections", and i think of how dreadfully embarrassed any poor boy must feel if he found out that slimy alyssa fancied him! so i try to box in my heart, and stuff it away because it's tiresome to imagine myself subject to such weakness. and of course i keep it inside, and pretend that i am better than everyone else, and call everyone dumb.

this is why i try to mould my image into something far from myself. i want people to realise how clever i am, and to be ignorant of how scared i feel. i want to push forward the picture of myself as a cold but a kind person. someone above the idiocy of humanity and feelings, but good and nice.

it's so silly to think of it now! i'm so self-obsessed that i'm forever twisting and tweaking myself mentally so that i can appear better to the people around me. i scramble about on the inside in the hopes that on the outside i would be seen as shiny and wonderful. and how completely stupid and foolish i make myself.

still i realise everyone goes through this. maybe not exactly the way i do, but who exists in this world who doesn't want to hide his faults and only show his best side? it's impossible for anyone to want to flaunt every single fault of theirs and keep away all their virtues. everyone has something about themselves they are quite ashamed of.

yet each one of us is so busy focused trying to hide his faults from others that in the end we don't even realise each others shortcomings very much. aren't we humans so silly? and so sad.

but i thank God that we're not hopeless. foolish and irrational, pathetic and pitiful as we are, i believe with all my heart that perhaps there is hope for us yet. we're broken and miserable, but humans are not stuck in a rut. there is a way out, and i will be there-- maybe slowly, but somehow i will be better.

in the meanwhile, you can just pretend that i didn't just pour out my heart onto the internet, and when you see me you may bow to my overflowing grace and poise and then leave me alone because i'm naturally so much more than you will ever be.

obstacles only idiots face

i was just thinking today, and suddenly realised something really horrible about myself. an awful thing i noticed about me is that whenever i meet or see pretty girls, i subconsiously resent them.

it's terrible. these girls literally do nothing to me and i scorn them just because of their physical appearance. this discovery makes me positively mortified.

i suppose i'm forced to admit that i'm just jealous. I AM JEALOUS OF PRETTY GIRLS. it's stupid and ludicrous but i realise i become really snarky when i talk about them and ridicule them when i get the chance. why am i such a trainwreck!?

i honestly hate this. just because pretty girls exist i oughtn't get on edge. it's not a competition! and there's far more to life than physical appearances. but how do i force the way i feel?

of course plenty of my friends are gorgeous but i suppose because i know them i don't feel so opposed to their existence, although it doesn't stop me from comparing between us. it's not fair! why do i have to feel this way?

if i was telling my mother about some girl who disliked pretty girls because she was jealous, she'd say that girl had an inferiority complex. the thought is disconcerting.

whenever i get disturbing thoughts like this i just wish i didn't exist. i feel so bad. i'm so very sorry to all those girls i scorned without knowing them properly first. i'm sorry i'm so ridiculous. i'm sorry i'm so at odds with myself that i mentally attack those better than me.

it's not my fault i'm unfortunate looking, but most of you can't help looking lovely so i really oughtn't be so cruel. besides, it's wonderful that so many of you can help looking beautiful, and it's wonderful that you work hard to make yourselves look stunning.

women were, after all, created for beauty, and beautiful you all ought to be.
i just need to get off my high horse and step back so that i don't generate any more idiotic sentiments in my head and thus speed up the degeneration of my being.

he thought his love slept sweetly: he finds she is stone dead.

one of my favourite books is jane eyre, by charlotte brontë. admittedly, i only started really appreciating the story when i watched the 2011 movie starring mia wasikowska and michael fassbender, and oh, how delicious mr. rochester was! ha ha ah, but that is besides the point (and quite unfaithful to the details of the novel, though it's a mistake i will gladly overlook).

jane eyre is a romance told from the eponymous character's point of view. as a child, she lives with her aunt reed, who despises her and sends her away to lowood school where a tyrannical clergyman is master. when she is finished with school she becomes a governness at thornfield where she befriends her employer mr. rochester who is twice her age and surprise, surprise, the man she eventually falls in love with.

it's a beautiful romance, because the love described is so understanding of the other, so deep and so full of heart. one of my favourite things about their love is that it is based almost completely on just what they learn about each other and experience with each other. i remember mr. rochester being described as ugly, and jane as little and plain, and yet their love is as (or more) passionate than any other. there is nothing to attract them to each other except for the way that they're able to connect with each other. their love is totally from the heart. how absolutely gorgeously romantic is that?!

to me jane eyre is the most believable and relatable heroine i have come across, and as much as i adore ella of frell and lizzie bennet i cannot relate to them. they're plucky and outgoing and playful and beautiful. jane eyre on the other hand, is thoughtful and quiet and plain. she is completely steadfast with her morals, and will not compromise her self-respect for love. though personally i can't exactly boast of such high principles, i like to imagine that i will not dishonour my standards in favour of my feelings, and i admire jane for what she does. although she loves mr. rochester she runs away from thornfield when staying would compromise what she believes in.

it's also comforting to read about a heroine who is loved not for her beauty but her spirit (it gives me a certain hope, ha.)

fairytales and romances are such fun, because we love to imagine that we are in the heroine's shoes, and our hearts beat when the hero makes his love made known to the heroine, and we feel like as if we are the ones being confessed to. it's a wonderful feeling!

but then we close our books, we switch off the television and we think about the story. "when will this happen to me?" "can this happen to me?" the story is scrutinised and strictly compared to our lives. then Aha, the comparison is drawn, the verdict is in. the characters are nothing like us!

when i read a story or watch a movie i want to relate. i want to empathise and understand. i want to feel. 
i suppose that is exactly why i love jane eyre so much, because when i read the book and watch the movie (literally again and again) and i see her and her character, i get the feeling that i remotely see me.

alyssa, me, myself, alyssa & i

sometimes i rather wonder how much of me people really manage to see. not how often they see me physically, but what percentage of who i really am as a person reflected on the outside.

do they see the person i force myself to be (when i actually care enough about appearances, ha), the quiet enough and friendly-enough-not-to-bite-your-head-off pastor's daughter with the occasional unintentional-but-maybe-just-maybe-not snubs at weak jokes and uninspired conversations?

or do they see the moody and woeful 20 year old, with all her eye rolls and scowls and bitter mutterings under her breath? can they feel her derision and scornful laughter at their attempts at gentility, and well-intentioned though badly timed efforts to talk to her?

which brings me to a question i've had on my mind for ages. why do people talk to me? do they feel sorry for me, because of my permanently miserable expressions? do they just need someone to talk to? granted, it is quite rare for me to be mobbed by people desperate for a chat, but i'm not avoided like the plague either, which does still make me wonder why people come to talk to me, for i certainly don't initiate contact either unless strictly necessary (i.e. emergency reasons like probably fire?).

of course, i could be merely over thinking something completely insignificant, because i've realised that for some people, light conversation is a common part of everyday life??1?!?! oh the horror.

but alas! i have strayed.

what do people really think of me? being a rather seasoned narcissist, i always try to imagine the opinions friends have of me. most of my fictional conclusions are quite negative, to say the least, but i cant say i've never believed that some people find me charming (names undisclosed!).

perhaps there are some people who might find me agreeable enough but to be totally and brutally honest, if people were to seriously think about who i am, they would probably conclude that i'm 

1. sometimes nice enough-- though
2. full of airs and graces & given to being a hoity-toity, 

3. a fairly decent listener

4. and rather helpful to have around when you desperately need a second person to check your english grammar.

?????



i do apologise, i am quite fixated on myself. but there, welcome to my blog...!