Apathy

I realize how irrelevant I am to other people's lives more and more as the days progress. I see all these people looking at me, smiling, waving, sighing, complaining. I see their lips move and their hands wave frantically in the air, while I nod and smile back. I realize I no longer care. I no longer truly care about the friends I thought I could share everything to and I can tell they no longer show concern to my existence out of pure sincerity, but rather out of obligation from the memories we had years before and the promises we made to each other saying we'll be there whenever, no matter whatever happens.
I was going to cry earlier, but then I thought about it: I don't really care. It really doesn't matter anymore. I've been fighting depression for so long, but why should I?
I am dust. I am air. And I am nothing, to me and to everyone around me.

Hm :S

I feel very queer. Perhaps it's because I've been watching Doctor Who and the Twilight Zone for the past two days or the fact that I'm painting in pitch dark as an experimental assignment for the MCA. Or maybe it's Wildbirds & Peacedrums playing in the background. Their avant-garde music is most definitely strange.

Thanksgiving

Recently (yesterday), my mom and I got into a big fight; she's upset, frustrated and angry that I'm not telling her what is wrong. All I'm asking for is patience and understanding, both of which she lacks. A doesn't want to talk anymore. And I haven't talked to anyone else besides M and Ar in the past 2 1/2 weeks. I am alone. Not that I truly mind, since I have a lot of time to reflect and I probably placed myself in this position. Maybe everything that happened to this point has been my fault. Done by me. 

I don't know how to be thankful today. I am not ignorant to the fact that there are people that care about me, but it's hard to express my gratitude when it is stuffed under all this stress and anxiety.

I showed my painting (as seen below) to my mom earlier today. She replied with: "I really, really don't like this painting".

Me: "Why not?" with a face of disappointment.

Her: "Because...Because-You just don't like what I have to say whenever it is negative"

Me: "Well, that's because you always have something negative to say about every painting I do and it's not even solid criticism or suggestion for improvements. Anything I do on a canvas just can never please your tastes"

She sighed and shook her head. "That's why we can never get along"

I walked away.

It's okay. I guess I don't need anyone's approval for my art. As long as I like it, I guess it doesn't matter. But sometimes I just wish, if anyone, any single person, in this world, would like my paintings, that person would be my own mother.

Unrequited Love

You know, many people would beg, plead, seduce, just about anything to get someone willing to love them unconditionally, no matter what time of day it is, no matter if it's the last moment of time. But it is absolutely the dumbest desire anyone can have. Love is a scary thing. With love, one can manipulate another to do whatever he/she pleases.
And what I hate the most is to be in that position. Not the victim, but rather, the person that cannot reciprocate. It's a terrible place to be in, to know that any wrong move you take can directly impact, affect, hurt the other person. It's like holding his hand running into a mine field, blindfolded.
What can I do? What should I do? What should I do when he says I mean the world to him...and I can't say the same back?

Smoking and Biking

I think smoking and biking are inversely proportional in my life currently. When I don't bike, I become extremely stressed, worried, and agitated. I constantly over-think phrases people say. Wonder about this class, anxious about that college. Life just seems chaotic and my only way to calm down is to smoke a square. I think it's best in the cold, when my fingers get numb and the tears that are finally release are cold plates on my face. This week has been filled with crying, self-loathing, self-pity, and smoking. "Oh woe is me". Every time I look in the mirror, I feel more and more pathetic.
Smoking is probably the most pathetic habit I recently took on. The big emotional impact I had from Grandpa's death from stroke turned me into a complete ANTI-cigarette person. I really want to say I'm just simply growing up or my philosophy class has finally wedged into my lifestyle, but in reality, this hypocritical action is just a sign of giving up. I'm not sure what I'm giving up on, but I know I need to stop.
On the other hand, after I biked continuously for 3 hours today, made art for several hours, had a good laugh with my friends and then biked through a warm, dark night alone, I felt good.  Actually, "good" isn't a word that would do it justice. It was a hopeful, uplifting feeling. A motivating spirit that sprouted out. The thoughts to change, to be better filled my head as I biked. I was fearless. Like a scummy alley cat prowling around the night.

MEOOoOoOoOOoWWW~

I am going to bike everyday to quit smoking.

No No No

This can't happen to me. I think I like a self-obsessed, arrogant, asshole hipster. Again. I'm so embarrassed and ashamed of it that I can't even write a full post about him. Or say his name aloud. Or look at him in the eyes. Or let even my best-est close friends know. It's been 4 weeks. I hope this phase ends soon. Oh dear heavens.

Beggars on the Train

father and daughter