‘Courtesy is a way of life’

Maybe it’s just that I don’t see the point in talking over other people.

I’ve been struggling quite a bit with getting across my points in group discussion on the topics that I really, really, down to the bottom of my heart give two fucks about.

During summer, my first week back, my family was annoyed with just how ‘loud’ I had gotten.

I was more vocal. I had a bloody voice that I may or may not have abused to an extent that would not have been acceptable by Malaysian standards.

I do not mean to discount Malaysian levels of what is considered an appropriate tone to use in conversations. Nor do I believe that the American standard of being vocal is any less of a ‘standard’.

I want to do as the Romans do, really. It’s easier that way, isn’t it?

Maybe it is my insecurities too that get in my way. Maybe that is why I may come off as another passive yellow person in class (which is a horrible stereotype to believe and enforce subconsciously).

Bottom point is, in what way should you approach ‘having a voice’?

How do you get it out there?

I contradict myself.

On one hand, I have very strong opinions. On the other hand, my voice does not convey that. My skin colour doesn’t convey that either.

So what does? How do I get you to understand without you disregarding my opinions and sweeping them past by because my accent differs from yours?

I’ll listen to my daddy of course.

‘Accept the guai lous for who and what they represent.’

Accept, dear self. Accept, Jen. Accept.

My College Bubble

It’s a gloomy friday. It’s not even the middle of September and the leaves have started to change colour (have I changed too?).

I’ve been finding it difficult to sit down and write down anything substantial. Partially because my mind fleets across many archives in a matter of minutes so nothing concrete ever presents itself in any form of clarity.

I try to make time for prayer even though I pray after my dumps. I believe in prayer. I know I’ve mentioned this a couple of times but it’s been a force that has kept me in sync with the universe and my surroundings.

Running on the other hand, has taken the backseat. It’s challenging enough to run during the evenings after a whole day of classes and work. It’s even more tedious when it’s cold out. It’s even more of a pain in the butt when the wind threatens to uproot your physical being because you are still. quite light even after eating like your typical unhealthy college kid.

In the process of adjusting, in the process of doing the best with what I have, in the process of trying to accept Madison and its inhabitants for what they are, I have learnt to let go. To let go of my inhibitions. To keep an eye open for the silver lining in the little things of life.

Most weekdays I am swamped. Most weekdays I plunk myself down and get straight to any assignment that’s due.

Most weekdays when I wake up. I don’t feel so shitty. I don’t feel like I’m about to die.

I’m very much alive.

I’m very much aware of my surroundings although sometimes I am hypersensitive.

College is a little bubble.

My bubble has only begun to grow.

Can’t wait for it to pop.

While I’m at it though, I’ll try to let go. See you for who you are and be okay with it.

Adjustments of the sexual & cultural kind

Now, this is in no way the reflection of my personal life. 

It’s been back to the books and to the grind. Adjusting to the demands of my work and academics have been something that I’ve tried to make my top priority but knowing my scatterbrain attitude and sometimes forgetful mind, I tend to fall off the bandwagon for just a little bit. 

It’s fifteen minutes before my last class of the day and I thought I’d get something down just because. Just because I should write. 

The Midwest has not turned out to be my greatest self fulfilling prophecy just yet. For that, I am eternally grateful. 

The bug bites have been worth it. 

The late nights out in the hairy (i mean in the abundant) wilderness have opened my eyes to literally the sky at my fingertips. 

One of my greatest struggles right now is the unknown future. The uncertainty as I delve deeper into what we call the cycle of life. 

The thing is, I am quite fearless or if you choose to look at it in another way, someone just waiting to get her yap nipped. 

I overthink still, of course. My traits shine like they have never before. 

But I will bristle. I will roll my eyes. 

And I will dare you to ask me where I come from. 

Because really. 

You must be curious to know why I speak such ‘good’ English. 

‘Live each day well and wisely’

We do not understand the significance of things unless they become giant, pimply warts about to explode. 

Dear reader, the jet lag has been for the most part, forgiving given that I am able to fall deeply asleep even if it just for a few short hours. 

As I listen to Sam Smith, I reflect on all the little things that have happened ever since my return and I am at best, calm and collected. 

I do not think of the what ifs. You could say that I have let the little bird fly away. As summer comes to an end, things are beginning to wrap up. 

The cycle of life continue. For once, I feel like am in sync. I feel like I can take things as they are. 

With newfound confidence and happiness comes prayer. I trust in prayer. I do wholly with my whole being. 

Classes start tomorrow. 

Things that count continue to rush at me. 

Dear reader, as I plunge deep into the unknown, I am for once happy. 

I am content. 

I will try to live each day well and wisely. 

I will do that. 

Okay Alone

I wish I didn’t have be to alone while I write this. 

I wish I wasn’t alone tonight. 

Many wishes. Many desires. Many wants.

You don’t always get what you want. 

I write as tiny little droplets stream down my tanned, spotty face. Malaysian weather has well-saturated my pores. 

I write as I listen to Paloma Faith’s ‘Just Be’. The queen of unrequited love belts out her lungs and I feel. I feel. 

I am not wallowing. 

I am not sugar coating either. 

I am just being. 

Alone.

I don’t know how to be alone. 

I’ll try. 

I’ll let go. 

You can’t let me go. No supreme power can let me go. 

Only I can let me go. 

Witness from afar. 

Don’t catch me. 

Don’t dangle. 

Don’t hang. 

I can catch myself. 

 

Very Yellow & Well-Fed Thoughts

I don’t even know if writing will fill this void I am stuck in. 

I don’t even know if summer spicy vibes will make me feel less numb. 

I don’t even know if running can take away the pain. 

I trust in prayer. I do. I wholly do. 

I was probably the saddest person in the biscuit aisle today at the supermarket because I was saying goodbye to all the marie, lexus, julie biscuits I couldn’t possibly carry with me. 

I don’t know if it’s just an international student thing or a Malaysian student thing with food. But really, food makes me sad. 

So, when I leave. I’ll be trying out a new thing. 

I’ll learn to just let things be because maybe some things are better left unsaid. 

Maybe in the near future I can entertain the possibilities. 

Maybe down the road the reunion could lead to fornication. 

Whatever it is. 

I trust in myself. 

I trust that I will make things right with myself. 

Even if I don’t get the opportunity to iron things out the way I would have wanted to. 

F8 is a mystical thing, isn’t it? 

 

 

 

 

Packing up.

I think my mother looks a little bit more sad when I start packing as I get ready for my long ass journey that’s about to cum. 

I honestly think that tying up loose ends is an art. It’s something that I will go to the ends of the world (is there even an end?) to find the specific resolution. 

Time is precious. I have a constrained amount of time to help myself. To help other people. To make the world a better place ( I know, on the verge of full-on puking of corniness). 

My friend calls them ‘intense bonding 1-on-1 sessions’ and I stand by that phrase. 

There are many reasons for my questions. There is a reason I do what I do. There is a reason why I tell the stories that I do in a very aunty, cheong hei way I might add. 

In my quest in understanding each and everyone around me that matter, in my drive to be able to internalise another’s emotions and thoughts lies my quest in putting the little pieces of the puzzle that make up the facade and true self of any individual. 

I’ll always wish for more time to be able to unravel and strip things down.

I’ll always wish for more time to get naked.

I’ll always wish for more time to embody. 

But packing up is inevitable, especially when time is fleeting, especially when time is all that we have. 

It’s a solemn thing packing up. 

It’s a solitary thing that I must commit myself to. 

For once, I accept that it is my journey. I accept that this is f8 (I apologise, I am feeling rather touchy-feely with corniness). 

I accept that packing up is something that I must do on my own. 

Watch over me.