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How we self-sabotage our own selves.

I’ve always been afraid. I don’t know why. I think it’s gotten worse though, over the years. Might need to do a Timeline therapy for this. Find out the cause of my fear, make my peace with it, and let it go.

The fear, this leaden feeling
It sits in a corner of my chest.
Just under my left breast
A heavy, leaden thing.

When I close my eyes
And acknowledge my fear exists
I find myself standing still, sitting still
Nothing moves.

There is no fear, in the traditional sense
No panic, no increased heartbeat, no desire to run
Instead, what there is
Is resigned acceptance that things change for the worse.

It’s a horrible thing, this fear.
Not the kind that makes you scream, cry, shout in horror
No, this fear is infinitely more terrifying
Simply because it is calming.

Fear to keep you where you are
To protect yourself from disappointment
Freezing yourself in that one moment
To keep the self from harm.

I acknowledge this fear.
I acknowledge it exists.
I know the reason for its presence.
And choose to move forward, with its warning.

Fear is the mind-killer
It is also the protector
Minimising risk and increasing survival rate
Fear was once necessary.

You need love to live
But fear to survive
Without one, the other cannot be.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Karcy had a very interesting question the other day. She asked on Facebook, why do the artists on her friends list create?

For me, the art of creation is what keeps me sane. Writing keeps me sane, keeps me alive, keeps me grounded, in a sense. Several years ago, after being out of a job for about 10 months, I began to work full time again. (My venture into freelance is something I’m still highly embarrassed about, mainly because it’s due to my own inadequacies, but that’s a topic for another day).

So when I started working again, I went into social media. It was what I was hired for, what my skillset then was good at. And in the business of it all, I neglected to write. As in write longform, stringing together words to make sentences to turn into essays. I began job-hopping. Then I finally ended up where I am working now, and still I didn’t write.

It took almost 18 months and the realisation I was slipping into depression before I began to take up the pen again. I could write, it seems during Nannowrimo, but I was afraid to write any other time. The sense of failure had resulted in fear, and I was truly afraid that I would fail again.

I tried all sorts of way to write. It wasn’t until this year, when I started submitting stories, that I really felt right about writing. It’s not an indulgent thing, to want to write because I want to. It’s not a matter of bragging about my skills. I’m not an imposter who’s lucky enough to string words together.

I write because I want to live.

And that’s all that matters.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Makishima-senpai on my phone

What is my identity?

When you talk about identity in Malaysia, it always comes back to race. To where you come from. To your culture. Chinese. Malay. Indian. Eurasian (colonial and not). Whatever.

Which always left me feeling a bit off, because I could never quite grasp them the way. I like culture, but not in quite the same others have internalised them. And then there’s the whole, “If you’re this religion and that race combo” mix, there’s a subtle way pressure to act/identify a certain way.

What is my identity?

I grew up in an English-speaking household. Always felt it was a bit off, because while my friends learnt at least 3-4 languages, in my mixed household we learnt only two.

And neither one was our grandfather’s nor grandmother’s tongues, at least not according to the ethnicity Malaysia had christened them with.

What is my identity?

Stories tell you a lot about the person in front of you. It’s not just the content of the story itself, but how it’s presented, by whom it’s presented, and why it’s presented… We’re all made up of different stories that have led us to where we are. Stories are a journey, but not an end.

Compared to most others, I have a fairly priviledged and safe story. I didn’t quite want for anything growing up, and I have enough to provide for myself, at least. My story’s rather tame, compared to most others.

What is my identity?

The roles we play inform our identity. The labels we stick on ourselves, these form our identity. The feelings, the emotions, the actions we take… this becomes our identity. It is how we identify ourselves to both each other, and to ourselves, a way of marking our presence and reality.

What is my identity?

A sister, I hope. A mother, maybe. A friend. A child. A writer. A spinner of stories. A privileged git. An overbearing and arrogant woman. A people pleaser. A lonely person.

So many, and yet none of these. I am the sum of my stories, and to narrow myself down to a single story, a single identity would be to displace my humanity and the humanity of those who have added to this story.

There’s always a way to move forward.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Updates, updates.

Well, as you can tell, I am alive. The first half of the year has come and is almost gone. There’s just a few more days left till June is gone, and with that, I will have to admit to myself that I will finally be hitting the mark that everyone says a woman is no longer delectable.

Yes, I will be hitting thirty next year.

Honestly, I find it quite amazing that I am even alive this long. I’m a little disappointed by the way my life has turned out, yet I’m surprised at the same time that I’ve come this far.

When I was 5, being 21 seemed like a long way to go. It felt like I was going to be ancient. Not ancient like Roman history, but ancient in the sense I was going to be on this Earth for that long. I never really quite had the long term view of things. It’s mostly all vague ideas and thoughts.

I ended up in writing mainly because as a kid it seemed to be something easy to do. When I was a kid, I thought I would be a nun or a nurse. I wanted to do something to help people. I grew up wanting to help people. It wasn’t enough to simply help though.

My family has a history of helping people. Depending on whom you listen to, the stories either warn us against helping those who weren’t part of the clan, or that sticking for your principles could lead to ruin.

In the family, my godfather is considered one of the straightest in the family. Straight in the sense that he would stand up for his principles. I know my grandmother and grandfather were alternately pleased and yet had a wry amusement about that. He is possibly the only person I know who was let go from his job two months in because he was such a straight and honest guy, he could not deal with the consequences (his job was a legal but ethically wrong kind of job). Some people have that temerity; he didn’t.

That was one of the stories I grew up with.

There’s a strong sense of ethical principle and morality in the family. Comes from being a Catholic, you see.

A Catholic, and I was sometimes impressed upon, from being a Malaysian Eurasian.

No lying, no stealing, no cheating.

There’s a reason why my grandmother was completely ok with her kids and grandkids doing any kind of job, as long as we were not used car salespeople or lawyers.

But I digress.

I remember very clearly my thoughts as a kid. I was lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling. I wondered if I would see my 21st birthday. I didn’t think I had much to look forward to. Age was literally just a number to me then.

So I lived in the moment.

Almost 25 years on, I find myself recalling that with incredible clarity. And I’m a little amused too.

If I had told myself at 5 that I would be a writer, that I would be writing for pleasure, and that I would read for pleasure, I would have looked at myself in surprise and laugh.

Actually no. I was a much more polite and brattier kid then. I’d have nodded my head and then went on to play. I’d then have told the story to anyone and everyone who would listen.

I still do that sometimes.

I found it very hard to believe that I would live to be 21, much less 30.

And if I did make it to thirty, I thought I would be married. I’d still be working, but I’d be married and have my own kids. And that my grandma would love to have played with my kids.

Funny how life turned out.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

The reason writers must bare their souls on the page is because someone out there in the world desperately needs to hear our story.
- Cherrie Moraga, as quoted by Ollin Morales

Several years ago, I read this particular quote on Facebook, before it got big. And it struck a chord in me. It reminded me of the many times I have read other authors, other writers, and come away far richer than I had been before I read them.

Yet I could not often reply to these authors to thank them. Some I could, because they were still alive and had an email address I could write to. Others were long dead or intimidated me because they had achieved a greatness I could only dream of.

Yet for a very long time, I thought long and hard about the words I wrote. Not about the actual words I wrote, but the reasons for writing. Why spend hours writing when I could be busy gaming, listening to music, checking out Facebook, Twitter and Google+, or even just reading other author’s words?

The answer came back to me as I was looking back on one of my older entries with a reference from another friend.

The words I needed to hear were my own. They are my immortalised dreams, a point of reference to look back on. They remind me of the spirit I had, of the promises I made to myself, of the grandiose statements I made.

Statements which I see, for now, are ashes.

Ashes, however, often hide ember. And ember can be stirred to create new fires. The trick is to get some flammable stuff to catch the fire first, then build it into a long-burning passion.

That starts now. *blows dust from journal*

Hi everyone.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Every so often I get the urge to be alone, usually after a period of intense mental or social activity. Work has been that the past few weeks, so much so that I couldn’t focus even though my workload was better this week. My social life was also filled with drama several weeks back, which added to the mental drain.

It’s time like these that I usually seek a retreat from my online social circles. When all I want to do is curl up with a loved one and a book. Or sometimes, just the book.

Find a quiet place to just sit and read, to rediscover the magic of imagination. Refill my patience and Zen tanks. They’ve been running low for the past year, and at this point, I do fear I might either explode or jump off a cliff.

So if I don’t seem very sociable, or lazier than usual to attend meetups or just plain rude or disengaged, you know why. I need time to care for myself before I can care for others.

The greatest love is self-love. It’s time I practice what I preach.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

This October, I want to do something other than just turning my blog pink for October. For most of us online, we’re aware that breast cancer exists. The colour dedicated to it is Pink. It affects mainly women, though there are approximately 1% men who suffer from it. In Malaysia, it was estimated in 2005 that 1690 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer. 460 of them will die.

Cancer isn’t something you sexualise. It isn’t something you trivialise. Anyone who’s seen friends and family struggle through cancer will attest to it. To watch your beloved waste away before your eyes while they plead for the pain to stop wrenches your heart. Cancer kills more than just the person who has it. It saps the energy and willpower of everyone around that person.

This October, I want to do more than just raise awareness. I want to raise RM2,000 for MAKNA, aka Majlis Kanser Negara, or in English, the National Cancer Council. To do so, I will be blogging every day with at least one post a day in Breast Cancer Month, October.

Why Makna? Makna focuses not just on raising awareness about cancer, but researching possible cures and treating cancer patients who otherwise may not be able to. Makna also runs a volunteer community program, where participants help cancer patients and their family. Some of these volunteers are there to provide a listening ear. Others may help just by walking and playing games with these survivors.

So if you have a spare change or two, I would like to ask your help in ending cancer. Open your wallets (or-ebanking account) and send some goodwill and money to them. Thank you.

ETA: You can donate to Makna and support my campaign via SimplyGiving! Thank you!

Wife of ETA: THANK YOU TO THE ANON DONOR! :D

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Moving house soon. So much stuff to pack! At the same time, so many memories…

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Heard this story from a friend, and would like an honest opinion on this. If you don’t want your opinion/thought to be publicised, feel free to drop me a LJ note/DM on Twitter/Facebook message.

The question is simple:

Assuming the price is right, would you buy a house which had had a dog in it? If you would, would you also buy a house where there had been religious symbols not of your religion abound? I.e. Statues of Kuan Yin, Christian pictures or Quran pictures on the walls, etc?* Why yes, why not?

Thanks!

*Note that the family is moving out and taking all the religious iconography with them, so the house will be empty when you receive it.

Original entry as appearing at Ink to Screen.

Excuse me while I laugh.

Card 1 (The Moon) : How you feel about yourself now
You feel confused, vulnerable and full of doubts, however, all is not as it seems. Feel the fear and do it anyway, because all will turn out well. Expect the new and unexpected into your life. Your turbulent emotions are muddying the waters so step back and try to find clarity of mind, although this may seem difficult. Things may seem tough or confusing but stick with it, it’s right for you. The Moon is a good omen if you are in a clandestine affair.

Card 2 (Death) : What you most want at this moment
The cards suggest that what you most want at this time is absolute change, to end what you no longer want and start anew. You desire to transform your career or your love life, perhaps your whole lifestyle in general. However catastrophic such changes could be, embracing them will only make you grow in wisdom and experience.

Card 3 (The Tower) : Your fears
You are afraid your world is falling apart, you’re experiencing sudden changes and disruption and you don’t quite know what to do. Perhaps subconsciously you’ve wanted a solution to an issue but didn’t quite expect things to have turned out as they have. Use this change as an opportunity for a new beginning. If you have been planning to move home you will be experiencing setbacks.

Card 4 (The Hermit) : What is going for you
You are instinctively taking time to relax and reflect, drawing on your inner strength and wisdom to guide you through these difficult times. Time is a great healer, so if you don’t know quite what to do now in time you will. The Hermit signals a warning not to make hasty decisions, and if you have been unwell this is a time for rest and recuperation.

Card 5 (The Devil) : What is going against you
It’s like you’re in a drug-induced haze – it feels great and always leaves you wanting more. This is addiction pure and simple, whether it’s an obsessive sexual relationship, money deals that are too good to be true, materialism at any cost or recreational drugs. Take care – it won’t lead to a happy ending.

Card 6 (Strength) : Outcome
Courage and self-belief is what you need to succeed. You may already feel overflowing with this, and if so there’s no doubt you will achieve what you want with your career, finances and love life. If you are feeling negative, look inward for that strength and courage, you know you are capable of having self-belief and you’ll reap great rewards.

Original entry as appearing at Reach Into Your Soul.