Rollercoaster

I have been moody since early morning today. Before having breakfast with my HK teammates, I was a little sad. Then I was happy when we had breakfast. When we went to work I was okay until the Celtics lost to the Lakers. I forgot the other reason for my rowdy behavior.

I was a little off today. When night came (with a little date with Lawrence), I thought it would change. However, this bitch was ogling at Lawrence the whole time we were having a meal. (Side note: To the bitch, back off--he's mine! and I mean it.) Then I was bored then I was jumpy, sleepy, horny and tired.

The best thing is that for now, I just feel in love. Lawrence has gone home now. He's probably on a bus trying his best not to fall asleep (because he knows that I hate it when he does that). And me, I'm in my bed still feeling his last kiss on my lips.

Is there a term for when you have so much love for the person it scares, excites and confuses you all at the same time?

I'm scared because I've never loved a person like this--not even my family. I'm excited because I know this feeling is just the beginning and it just keeps getting better and better as evident in the last five years of our relationship. It confuses me because I don't really know how to handle this--I might get pushy or clingy or unlovable in the end.

There's no point to this entry at all. I just have to write this because I do not want to lose this memory (this feeling? maybe). Maybe one day I'll read this entry and know the answer to my own question. For now, I'm enjoying the end of this rollercoaster ride.

Happiness is not that bad

Today, I felt blessed.

People always say that happiness is a choice. I have been denying this for the longest time ever since I met depression in Grade six. For the longest time, I always denied that I am blessed. When people see blessings, I see flaws. When people look for happy endings, I crave for miserable ones.

Depression, sadness, morbidity and death has been my comfort zone for a long time. Evident in my writing pieces, I can write gruesome deaths and much-more ghastly heart breaks. My family and friends can attest to the amount of negativity my mouth spews per day--whether it be a form of a complain, a joke or a story.

I have never been good at accepting blessings. I'm too afraid to recognize it because I know one way or another it will escape me. So I stick to my bad endings and my negativity; because I know these are constant and I will never be disappointed.

Today was different. Today, I was out with my family and Lawrence celebrating my dad's birthday and my parents' wedding anniversary. Today, I felt happiness. And even though there are some disappointments (e.i., no family spa treatments, Law went home early, etc.) I still felt happy.

Usually I battle happiness with negative thoughts and sudden bursts of temper--but today, I didn't. I simply enjoyed the moment and felt contented.

Today I write (which I don't usually do much these days) because I want to capture this moment--this feeling. Hopefully when time comes that depression comes knocking in my door again, I would only have to read this and ignite one of the fondest memories I've ever had (in the longest time).

Writing

Last Friday night, Lawrence identified me as miserable.

And for the longest time, I didn't think I was. I mean, I was always stressful and of course some factors (like woman-related happenings) caused my mental state of miserable but I never thought I WAS MISERABLE.

He says it's because I'm not doing what I like.

Currently, I'm in the Accounts Payable line of business. This has something to do with Math and Accounting. This is ironic because I have evaded Math for as long as I can remember. (I have a theory regarding life's ironies, but I'll just blog about it some other time.)

It's been a while since I've written anything. I used to write all the time. And I mean ALL THE TIME. My attention's been called by my many, many, many annoyed teacher when I was writing essays while the class was going on. I use to just sit and then start writing my thoughts down--whether it be on my cellphone or on the back of a food receipt.

When I started working, I don't seem to have the time anymore. I used to wish that there could be a device which records my thoughts so that when I feel like writing, I don't actually have to write--I just think. And then words will immediately be recorded--which I can edit later on my laptop.

I miss writing because I miss making stories. I miss making fun of people or situations in a very subtle and unnoticed kind of way. I miss pouring my thoughts out without anyone contradicting me right in my face (unless the reader would actually come up to me and contradict what I wrote--which doesn't happen because I'm unpublished). I miss the sound of the excited tapping of the keyboard keys whenever I have something to say. And I miss the fact that my writing needs to keep up with my thoughts as they completely zoom in and zoom out on different stories, essays and other writing materials.

I have yet to write about the interesting ideas I have collected throughout my college years. I have yet to write about my opinions on the different places, food, cultures and experiences I have had for the past three years. I have yet to write about my thoughts on my current friendships, past and my hopes for the future.

Maybe Lawrence was right. Maybe I'm miserable. Because I just realize, I haven't been doing something that makes sense--makes me complete. For years, I have written everything down. Even the ugliest and worst essay I have ever read. Now, I write nothing.

This is just so sad.

Destiny

I often ask myself what I want in life. In the end, I end up being more confused than I was when I first asking it.

Truth is, I'm indecisive.

Currently, I'm working for a multinational bank doing far fetched tasks. Tasks I didn't fathom that I could do. Salary is great. I'm a workaholic so extra work is fine with me. But I still find something missing.

Give it a second. Maybe later I'll decide that this is nothing.