midada's collection

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counting-down

This is where i was. I mean this post is where i was having my stomach screwed by the return of that fierce ulcer's strike. For four consecutive days for i could never beg for more in life, but to be a healthy person. I was so horrifically worried to have had missed my plan of backing home - to have had missed my family reunion. It is such a huge random thing that has managed to make my unhealthy days, most likely my whole week. And believe me or not that my days in this week have been somewhere between "hell" and "earth", and i wanted just to pick just one of each without having painfully been abused by that stricken disease.

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Having started to write, i could feel blood is rushing out through my very dried fingers' nails. December is still somewhere in two weeks-time more to come and the weather is already dropping down to -13 degree Celsius.

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Here's another winter has started tiptoeing into my life..., a lonesome life that's waiting for a new departure. Counting till that day ahead, it'll be exactly the amount of some years with no extra days i will have done living my life in this country's cities. Been spending time alone at this end of very long day thinking everything through - figuring out how my life will be changed after this new transition and wondering how i will be driven by things, the risky-made decisions(?). This through-thinking process makes me review some parts of my past, some choices i've made and why i made them. I know there is so much of my life consumed with me craving for how i have to be better in many ways: more patient, less frustrated, more fat, less revenging, and so far of more and so forth of less...

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That counts so many years i've been waiting for my one powerful sentence becomes real, the remedying sentence that one day: one day i must return; that i will..., i will always return to Cambodia. So having been here in this country, having been staying up late tonight to describe these things, having been so anxiously counting down to the departure date, and having had things left behind my failure here - i seem to feel that the clock is ticking towards the ending; and there's a shift inside me - a shift for everything.

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As yet, i'm beginning to wonder. I'm wondering how is it possible that i will fully be able to burn each bad moment of my life here with my departure into my brain. I could foresee that it won't be this soon, but hopefully not other six or seven years to get faded away. Also, i'm wondering when i become an alright man, how will i be able to look back and remember these days, these years? How will i feel and understand the passage of the years, the most unlikely happy moments, the pains, and the small part of fun? And if I can't remember any of it, how much does my life ultimately matter, if in the end, there is nothing for me to look back to...?

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Having wanted to end the last paragraph here, i shall reason out that there's no way to deny: it's obvious that there have always been lusts in my heart for all these years in fulfilling my tasks as a grown man, but then i thought of ways in which had found my temper caused a promising future demolished; how madness blinds me to possibilities...; how i let misunderstandings led me down the wrong path. Suddenly, then, thoughts of becoming the greatest son were all gone...

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Wishfully, it were gone for a better somthing...

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sEaling off

Of this late, about a week or two, i started to get scared of communicating with people whom i very closely+intimately know. I am scared just because i'm afraid the amount of commitments that i'd use to put in conversations would not be strong enough to persuade those persons to rightly feel that i do honesty care about them. I am getting tiring so pretty oftenly, recently. I feel like i no longer care to be strong or brave for someone(s) - so, that made me lashing out in ways i didn't want to. I wish there was always a way i could diplomatically explain those persons not to get me wrong by whatever ways. I guess it's smelly hard, so i again and again end up being ignorant as i used to be. I didn't mean to not evenly responsible for everything, because I was and that was why i sealed myself off emotionally from ways i wanted and played a big role in making everything fall apart. So yeah... it brings out the ugliest parts of me. I know sorry is something i don't wanna say, not because i did what i have done to hurt those somebod(ies), but because sorry won't make anything back or cause sh*ts away.

So here... i'm injecting what I felt and feel, because i remember very clearly all that was flowing through me as I wrote and talked those words - and here i'm noting down and trying to remember those cruel parts of me before everything is definitively changed.

I purposely posted this picture of me

with my 7 years old glasses

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moments passEd

At my age, assuming i am not the victim of my own temper. The last couple of weeks have stricken me one sharp blow, dramas, and some general crappinesses. Living through this life-falling-apart, thing has made me cautious in a way i never expected to be. I lately react to people with more protective of my feeling, of the choices i make and the way i behave that could damage my feeling. What everyone wants from life is continuous and genuine happiness. Three passions have governed my life: the longing for satisfying my beloved ones' needs, the self rebuilding, and the will to prove people wrong with their critical judgements on me. I believe a person will get tougher and grows up when facing obstacles in his/her life and i wish god will at any chance offer the blessing to this kind of person.
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I guess i just can't connect together all the lines of those crappy things which were lately happened in one long post, and the point is... that wouldn't be worth reading and that would end up as one more another crappy post here. Let say it’s been so distressing to say something that is of no importance to others. But, the one thing i'd want to raise here and to say that it makes me ache in the most awful way is that i am underestimated.

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So here the thing, the thing that when i feel like(once in a life time) to detail my account or to be honest of how i feel and of what i have done, it by default puts people in a position where they feel compelled to offer me with their instant feedback or advice and blame me as though they were right in my shoes without even weighing the real situation. I want to die at that point, because i feel like i spitted on my own face. I want to die for the fact that they could read the bad part from my telling, but why couldn't they accept my reasons for having done so? The whole purpose of sharing my feelings to people is just to share them; and that's it! I'm not fishing for compliments and neither I'm fishing for arguments. And I'm not painting myself to cover my crooked part either. I just don't understand why they can't judge me the other ways. If i was that real bad and if i knew myself i was that bad how could i just say things out? What a guy in his right mind would want to do so? How could i reveal my own scandals and pretend to seek for advices. Can't they just listen to the detail and find out the truth in me within time? Can't they just let the facts speak about themselves? Don't they know i have spent some years being rejected in every possible way? It is so saddening to see when you reconcile with someone and they can't really believe in your reality or your commitment to them.

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Well, things have happened. Yet, i've spent so much time trying to re-clarify the content of my cognition, trying to fix the words that had been spoken out, and trying to console the broken feeling that had been downed. I so rarely regret things I do; i am instead mostly bothered by the things I did not do or did not say. And it seems to me here, laying on the bed right now with so many things to talk to myself for that i can't ignore staring me in the face, that there has been a shift inside me, the maturating change.

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Echoing in the ears, there's now a whispering of a manly quality telling me that everything depends on this one memory, that one moment, and my ability to remember it, to build the story of my life and give that life a meaning; the life that has been refused to afford some good lucks; the life that is hard to get a certainty for its feeling. I wish that kind of certainty comes again, but just once more in this lifetime.

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