I hate. (Now without the four letter words)

Warning: The following post is (UPDATE: used to be) filled with profanity, angst, profanity, hatred and profanity. I don't usually condone swearing, or like it, but extreme provocation (read: a pointless exercise conducted in a very pissed-off sun, coupled with stress and PMS) provides for extremely provoked language. Anyway, read at your own discretion and for God's sake don't leave messed up comments for me.


I hate. I hate the sun, the fact that its a frickin hundred degrees outside, the fact that the stupid weather is so stupidly annoying.
I hate people, stupid, empty, meaningless, shallow, superficial people with no consideration for others, who can't even do the  jobs they're paid to do properly.
I hate yelling. I hate having to yell. I hate stupid dumb blank stares with the heat rushing through your veins. I hate blinding red hot rage.I hate that I'm talking like this.
I hate traffic jams and fifteen minute jobs taking one and a  half hours.
I hate the fact that the hot dog and momo stand behind my house shut and went away.
 I hate the fact that people are so hard to read, so hard to trust. I hate that perfect freaks don't exist in my universe.
I hate the internet screwing with me.
I hate prying stranger-acquaintances.
I hate short tempered hormonal women. I hate being a short tempered hormonal woman. I ' hate hormones.
I hate that the stupid drummer next door doesn't realize that there are people living near by who can hear him who have lives which they'd rather live without a constant bang bang bang as background music. I hate the fact that he doesn't even have the courtesy to be freakin' hot if he's going to be drumming away all the time.
I hate work, sleep deprivation, expectations, judgement, all that jazz.
I hate anger and slamming doors and loud voices.
I hate that I have to password protect everything just to get some privacy. (Okay, that's not exactly true, but whatever. UPDATE: That is now true.).
I hate the words "everything is fine". I hate people who ask you how you are when they don't give a damn about anything except their stupid new car or whatever. I hate stupid social conventions.
I hate the fact that people make stuff up in their head about you without knowing a thing about your life. I hate the fact that when you say you're worried they don't understand that you're worried.
"Oh Sam? Yeah, she's fine, just perfect. What does she have to get scared about?" I hate that.
I hate the fact that I'm so unsure of everything. 
I hate the fact that society thinks that women are some fragile little flowers that need to be protected all the frickin' time. I hate the fact that half the people who think that about their women are the ones who go fuck with other women. I hate the stupid, hypocritical world that we live in. I hate that the sunshine and rainbows are so overshadowed by the stress and mud.
I just..hate. And I hate that I hate.

~Sam

Hypocrite

They tell you to follow your heart; they tell you to use your head.

They tell you to revel in life; they tell you to think twice. 

They tell you everyone makes mistakes; they scream at every one of yours. 

They tell you to do your best; they scorn if it doesn't make you the best. 

They tell you to dream; they expect you to be realistic. 

They tell you to think big; they tell you you're one small voice. 

They tell you you're free; they shackle you with judgement. 

They tell you to believe.
They teach you to behave. 

~Sam

Empty Pages

I'm sorry. In advance. My last post sucked, and this one is going the same way, at least in my head. I highly doubt you give a damn about what I'm going to say, but I want to talk and vent and have no one talk back, and empty pages are perfect for that. My diary is unavailable, and this is the next best thing. It's actually the best thing, I prefer blogging to diary-writing anyway. It seems less emo-ish, is that weird? And more productive, somehow, and less childish. I don't even know what I'm saying any more.

Whatever. I've tried to write so often in the past few days-or is it weeks? I don't even remember when the last time was that I uploaded a proper post, with something that I actually wanted to talk about instead of just random updates and thoughts. Well, they're all random thoughts, but you get what I mean. I hope.

I hope. I try to. In God, in human beings, in justice. It's usually for no reason. No miracle saves the day, people don't suddenly become wise and wonderful, the world is still unfair. And yet I persevere, because you have to hope, right? You have to hope to live, because without hope there really is no point to it all. If you don't hope for a better tomorrow, then why would you suffer today?
Maybe fear is another reason to live, though. Fear of the unknown-fear that what comes after death might actually be worse than life. I don't want to live of fear.
This is funny, because I was actually going to do a post once on the reasons to live. The reasons that I live. It's still sitting in my drafts-box, empty.

The thing is, I think too much. I think and I think and I reach a conclusion, and then I think some more and I ruin it all. Whoever said ignorance is bliss had the right idea. Knowledge might be power, but I'd choose bliss over power any day. The more I think, the less certain I become, and the less certain I become, the more frustrated I am. And God am I frustrated right now. Nothing is certain in my life, because there's so much blasted information everywhere, and I'm so ignorant of it-not of all of it, that would be too beneficent of the Gods; I know enough of it to know that I should know more, but not enough to make me feel like I know enough.

That makes sense, right?

I'm thinking so much that I'm losing track of what's real. I have almost no opinions any more because I can see both sides and neither can convince me. And I liked having opinions.  I wish I could go back to being an ignorant 12 year old whose biggest concern was classroom bullying, who didn't give a damn about life and death and religion and economy, who didn't have to give a damn about any of it, who was old enough to have a bit of freedom, young enough to enjoy that limited freedom without yearning for more, and innocent enough to endure all those little pleasures and problems without thinking too much about them. I want to be a kid again. I don't want to be old. I don't want to be wise. Enlightenment never got anyone anywhere. The wise people in all the movies and books are always alone, always lonely, have you ever noticed? I want to be an average, happy human being. I don't care about being extraordinary any more. I don't care about leaving a mark on the world. I don't care about the shit that's happening to the world, the wars and the subterfuge and the global warming and the poverty and the sickness and the sins. I just want to be happy. If it's just an illusion, I don't care. If you were happy in a dream, would you want to wake up?


~Sam

Its been a long time.

First and foremost, a very happy (very belated) New Year to all of you. I know its been a long time, but I've been busy being sick and trying not to throw up. Stupid food poisoning got to me. And the most unfair thing? I was the only one of the group who actually liked the food. And hence, by the skewed laws of the universe, the only one who got sick. *glowers* Anyway. The new year, so far, has kind of sucked for me, I really hope its going better for you guys. There's been loads of introspection, loads of self-doubt, loads of angst, and through it all, loads of nausea. Sigh. I'm not depressed, but I've been thinking about depression, and...its a scary thing, isn't it? Its not like any other emotion-not like anger, which claws its way through you, and, having imprisoned itself in your heart, tries to claw back out. Its not like happiness, bursting upon you like a ray of sunshine. Ironically enough, the emotion it most seems to resemble-at least in my experience-is joy. [Joy, as I read somewhere, is happiness which does not depend on what happens.] It seeps into you slowly, oh so slowly, so that you don't even realize what is happening, and you go around doing your stuff, losing that bounce in your step, slowing down a little each day, sinking into that quicksand inch by inch without ever realizing it, and all the while the levels are rising, rising, until one day they reach the brink, and you wake up sad. Or, conversely, very, very happy, if you're talking about joy, which I'm not. I think depression is what I'm most afraid of in my life. The impenetrable darkness of it, the isolation. I know if I got depressed no one could help me, because I over think so much that I'd probably counter all the possible reasons they could give me to be un-depressed. Would I be able to think enough to find a reason of my own to be happy? I don't know. Why I'm talking to you about all this? Don't know that either. I just hope I never have to find out the answers.

Love and all.
~Sam

Its funny how precious every moment becomes when you realize they're limited.

Wow. I sound like I just found out I was going to die or something. Well, I didn't. Though I would like to. I mean, I would like to know when would die. Not that I was going to.

Anyway.

 Its weird, but despite everyone knowing that we're going to die some day, death is always unexpected. Its like the elephant in the room. I remember wondering how Brutus could be so calm on hearing of his wife's death in Julius Caesar. I think I understand now, what he meant when he said that by meditating upon her death, i.e., by understanding that one day she would die, he has found it easier to accept her death. No way have I reached that level of maturity yet, to be able practice that, but I do understand now, and I don't find him such a heartless jerk any more, which is an improvement I suppose. I just..I wish we knew when we were going to die. A cancer patient gets a prognosis, but spends her life miserable at the thought of death. If I knew when I was going to die, I wouldn't waste it being unhappy. I would do my best to enjoy what time I had, to live every moment to the fullest. To just live. That's what I meant by the title-at the endings, the farewells, the close of the chapters, the last days, that's when we begin to treasure every moment. Why? Why must we not care about something until its about to run out? I'm not just talking about life here, this goes everything from pie to oil. Why can't we treasure what we do have just as much as what we're about to lose? Why is the girl who plays hard to get more appealing than the best friend? Why are we so stupid? 




I just feel that if we had as much respect for life as we do for death, the world would be a much happier place.


~Sam. 

I am about to have a breakdown.

People tired of me ranting and raving and being depressed and PMS-y, go away. This is not for you.

People depressed and looking for someone to empathize with , read on.

So I woke up happy today, and I thought-"I've been moaning too much, I should really surprise them (as in, you. Yes you. You right there looking at this right now) with a happy post." So then I was sitting and thinking about how the sun is shining and the birds are singing and la di da di da-and then shit happened. (Doesn't it always?). And I know it happens to everyone, and that I'll be happy again tomorrow, and that I'm not the only sufferer in the world, and that there are people out there who are suffering more than am, but when have other people's sufferings ever made a difference to your own? I can't tell you what my suffering is because I'm trying to be anonymous and not get killed or kidnapped by some random stalker, and this is a pretty identity-related problem, but what I can tell you is..its all building up. All the stress and the tension and the worry and the bullshit. The expectations and the judgement. All of it. Like tears at the back of your eyes, and that cry-ey feeling in your throat, which doesn't go away because you don't let yourself cry, for whatever reason. But one day, those tears are gonna come out. And I'm going to cry. And I'm going to scream. And I'm going to bitch and argue and fight and be an extremely mean, rude, selfish person who does not Give A Damn. And I really hope that day comes soon, because then it'll all be okay. It'll all be out, and I'll be normal again, I'll be me again. The tears will be out, all my frustrations will be vented, and we can all live happily ever after and not have to contend with depressing posts from me ever again. Until the next time I PMS. But anyways.

 So here is me sincerely hoping that Breakdown happens, and happens SOON. Or that all the frustration building up within me disappears on its own, without needing a breakdown, like ice cream in the fridge or money in the bank.

~A Very Bleh, Sam


I really hope no one read this. I haven't proofread, or even cared about being coherent. But if you did, kudos to you! And to me, because I finally managed to say "kudos" xD


I'll go away now. 

I'm tired.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of people telling me how to live my life.
I'm tired of having to do something just because the world demands it, because "that's the way its done".
I'm tired of customs and traditions and religion and hypocrisy and manipulations.
I'm tired of not knowing what I want, but wanting it just the same.
I'm tired of not having time.
I'm tired of pretenses and facades, lies and deception and unkept promises.
I'm tired of judgement.
I'm tired of appeasing.
I'm tired of imperfection.
I'm tired of being so discontent.
I'm tired of having so much work and so little sleep. I'm tired of insomnia.
I'm tired of unfulfilled dreams and of losing my dreams, my 'religion', my friends, my family, my ties.
I'm tired of worrying, about the environment, about the world, about myself, my future, my family, my friends.
I'm tired of sympathizing and empathizing, of feeling guilty and hating myself.
I'm tired of sickness and colds and aches and split-ends.
I'm tired of being a coward.
I'm tired of all the things wrong with this stupid world, filled with these stupid people and their stupid words.
I'm tired of having to know things.
I'm tired of suffering and pain and death, misery and fear and desperation.
I'm tired of having to give in to the "system". I'm tired of having no other choice.
I'm tired of planning, of losing all spontaneity.
I'm tired of having to think twice.
I'm tired of questions.
I'm tired of expectations.
I'm tired of competing.
I'm tired of caring.
I'm tired of mood swings and depression.
I'm tired of drifting.
I'm tired of rules.
I'm tired of inequality.
I'm tired of hating, and haters.
I'm tired of this world.

I'm just..tired.

~A Still PMS-ing, Sam.



Post inspired by: http://francesjoy.blogspot.com/2011/05/tired.html

Why can't the world just go away?

Because honestly, it isn't that great a world. If every single human being on the planet died, I think it would be a much, much better place. Because the way we're living, we don't deserve to live. Whether it be the wild jungle, or the concrete one, its still survival of the fittest. We can call ourselves civilized and human as many times as we want, but the truth is, animals are probably a hell lot more "humane" than we are. At least they don't lie. At least they don't deceive. At least they're honest. Even if its a fox, or a coyote or a vulture, at least its honest about its dishonesty and cunning-ness. They live together or in isolation, help each other or eat their young, at least you know where you stand with them. They kill because they have to, survive on inter-dependence and cos-existence, we just..do whatever we want to, and try to (and do) get away with it. At least they're honest.We, on the other hand, are not. There is not a single person on the face of this planet whom you don't know absolutely intimately that you can trust. And sometimes, you can't even trust them. Most rapes and kidnaps take place with the help of "trusted" friends or family. We've created this beautiful facade, where we all pretend to be kind and generous and sympathetic and Christian in our behavior, but how many of us really are? We sit and we criticize and we cry and we preach about starving orphans in Africa; what do we do about it? We're divided by every single possible thing in this world. Race, religion, country, color, caste, creed, gender..name it, and its a divide among humans. We speak about environmental problems and go and print a dozen flyers. We hold summits and spend the entire time arguing over what other people should do, how much they should pay, rather than thinking of what we can do. We take the microscopic minority of a group, a nation, any group, any nation, and make them representative of the whole. A few obvious examples- a Muslim planned 9/11, ergo, all Muslims are secretly planning to kill you. The American government interfered where it shouldn't have, ergo all Americans are bad, selfish hypocrites. An Australian behaved in a racist way, ergo all Australians are racists.

Really? I mean, really? You could know my parents since their childhood, know them inside out, but you still wouldn't know me, because I'm a different person, an individual. And if my parents can't give you any insight into who I am, what I am, how the hell can you judge me on what one of a million of my countrymen did dozens of years ago?!

I don't claim to have answers. I don't claim to be perfect. I've never donated for Africa and I've judged people on a minute's meeting. I'm just as prejudiced and evil as the next person. All I know is-I don't think we ever grow up, or learn anything. Sure, we speak a little better, dress it all up a little better, and sure, the stakes are a lot higher, but in the end, we're all little five year olds. Fighting with a sibling over the remote, fighting with the Israelis for Jerusalem. Quarreling over who gets the bigger room, starting World War 2 for a little bit of land. Thinking your mom favors the other kid, thinking the world is conspiring against you. We're masters at victimizing ourselves, at putting up these beautiful facades to make everything seem the way we want it to seem.If Hitler had won, we'd probably accept that the Holocaust was brilliant just as we accept all the other trash fed to us today. Governments, politicians, the media. How do we trust any of them? How do we know who's bad, and who's good? Is anyone good? We're civilized, we're globalized, but in the end, its just each man for himself. You might sympathize over a friend's pain, but you'll cry over your own. You might give someone a buck, but you wouldn't mind stealing someone else's job to earn ten thousand. You might be nice, but you'll never be nicer to anyone more than yourself, not your wife, not your kids, not your mother. We're literally animals. And that is why we're humans. And that is why the world should end.



~A Very Disillusioned (and majorly incoherent, I'm sorry if I couldn't get my point across very well) Sam

PS- I attribute the above post entirely to PMS which got me disillusioned and depressed, and hearing about Jullian Assange's extradition-thing, which got me started on the whole, "How do we know even Assange isn't secretly a selfish rapist-liar?" train of thought, which led me to this.

I want Him.

-[2014 me is laughing so hard at this right now. So dramatic, wow.] [2015 edit: No, really, what was I on?]-

I NEED Him. And no, I'm not talking about God, though a few more blessings here and there from Him wouldn't go unwanted either. Is that grammatically correct? Probably not. Do I care? No. I don't even care about the fact that I don't care, that's how far gone I am right now.

I need him. My perfect guy. My hot boyfriend, though I want him to be a lot more than just a hot boyfriend that I can brag about. My soul mate, maybe? My love. The one who makes all my troubles go away, if only for a little while. The one who'll be my treasure, my "precious", my anchor, my harbor, my world. The one who'll make me laugh when I know I'm about to cry, a la Taylor Swift in "You Belong With Me", the one who'll lend me his shoulder and his handkerchief without asking for anything when I do cry, the one who'll love me despite the sniffles and the snot and despite all my faults and neediness. The ark that I can come into after a long hard annoying plain pissing off day (which today has been, in case you hadn't noticed). The one who'll hold me and love me and nurture me and complete me make me so much more than me. The one who belongs with me. The one I can spend the rest of my life with, and no, I do not give a damn if humans are sociologically not created to be monogamous. The one I can rant at and bitch in front of, without him thinking any less of me, because no matter how much you try to unbitch yourself there are certain people who're just begging for someone to bitch about them, who insist on coming in your way no matter how much you try to avoid them, who insist on making you break your promise to, well, to unbitch yourself, who force themselves under your skin and make you want to just tear out your hair (or, alternatively, to punch them) and get them out of your system.

The one who'll be there, all day, every day, perfect and sane, the beach to my ocean, the bank to my river. With dimples ^-^ And I know he probably doesn't exist, and I'm setting the standard too high, and I should just  get used to the fact that no one, NO ONE, can be that perfect, but right now, I just need hope. And even if he only exists in my imagination for my entire life, I will still hope that he's out there, somewhere (only I hope I find him before I marry Mr Second Choice, cuz I really don't wanna cheat on and/or divorce anyone).

~A Slightly-Less-Exasperated Sam

Also, I don't know if anyone is reading this besides moronsorginally (who, by the way, I will always love and remember as being my first real comment-or), but thanks a lot. Also, Malko, for the idea to start a blog, because it's nice to have someone to rant at, even if it's only a blank page. Thank you, love you, and God bless you. And now I sound old. *sigh* 

PMS+Depressing Book=Dumb Questions About Humanity

I read a book today. It's called "I Don't Know How She Does It", it's by a person called Allison Pearson, and it talks about some of the issues I wrote about here. Frankly, it depressed me. It's about a woman trying to deal with two children and a tiring job-trying to make it in a man's world, without fully leaving the woman's. In the end, she picks the woman's world.

Gender equality is not the point here, however. My views on that have already been made clear. What got me depressed about this book was how it portrayed-accurately-the total isolation that men and women live in, in this world. The coldness that we show towards people not directly related to us. The way we conveniently ignore the fact that every person we pass in the street has a life, has a story. That he has troubles and difficulties and sorrows and joys and love. That every person that we look through, has substance. That every person we ignore or mistreat, is also a person, a human being.  Not many people would stop to help a woman crying in the middle of the street; most would either pity or scorn her. Not many would sacrifice their time and energy to help someone to whom they have no emotional attachment, and thus, no vested interest in. We are so ensconced in ourselves, we have no time for anyone else. We live in a society, but in the end, it's each man for himself. Each woman, for herself. United we stand, but we prefer to remain divided, too busy with our little tremors to notice someone else's earthquakes.

~Sam