Tuesday, May 23, 2017

memory. loss.

So I somehow managed to wreck my microSD card with thousands of photos in it. These photos range from USA pictures, to a multitude of  poorly taken concert photographs, to hundreds more of which I cannot remember the content.

I did not miss it until I lost it. Then I missed it for awhile.

What are photographs, but some memory catalyst, for you to remember the story behind each digital image of something that you tried to frame, and to immortalise. (until you wreck your microSD card. So actually very, very mortalised)

If I needed to remind myself what I did, was it even worth remembering?

Is this the case also, for people.

If you lose something that probably wasn't even yours to lose in the first place, did you really lose it?

I guess what I really wanted to say is BACKUP YOUR DATA. Don't be a fool.

justin.


Tuesday, April 05, 2016

clarity.

You know how TV always shows that moment of clarity, just before someone passes away? When they suddenly get better, and say all they want to say before dying. Yeah, that's all bullshit.

Monday, March 28, 2016

whose death is more important anyway?

I just saw the news of this little girl in Taiwan who was a victim of a random attack. She was randomly decapitated in front of her mother and grandfather, by a drug abuser. And now I'm feeling all kinds of fucked up, because who would do that to a little girl? What kind of monster does this kind of thing?

Then I read that he had mental problems etc. so maybe he couldn't control himself. And how did his lack of self control manifest in him FUCKING DECAPITATING a little girl? And at this point in time, who wants answers? Should there be vengeance on this guy? I sure as fuck think so, because if your mental problem manifests in such violence, well maybe you need help. And maybe help is not living in this world anymore because it can be such a torture.

So then it comes to me blatantly ignoring those 60 odd people dying in Pakistan from ISIS related bomb blasts, and the Belgium attacks, and those in Turkey. So fucking what? I have been reading all sorts of articles about "You were Paris. You weren't Ankara. Why are you Brussels?" Seriously shut the fuck up. This doesn't have to be about race, or whose deaths were more important. People died for no fucking reason, and that in itself is a reason to mourn. It doesn't matter where more people died, or how many people are caring on facebook. Facebook is just a mask you wear to show other people anyway. You're just going to put #jesuitcharlie or #prayforbrussels or #prayforankara or like what I'm doing, sharing a fucking article about this outrage, and then living your own fucking life in a bubble because you already did your part in the hashtags. Until something happens again.

Yeah I'm just ranting because people died. And I'm feeling fucked up now, because humans can be like that. And nothing can be done, because now you just try to get by in a fucked up world. The fucked up people don't always get what they deserve, and innocent people get fucked over all the time. I'm not making sense anymore.

Thursday, March 24, 2016

there must be some kind of way outta here.

Sometimes it feels like there's no escape from this mundane bullshit people call adult life. It's like adults are just kids who still don't know what they want, and haven't gotten a grip, but have acquired enough materially to do things kids aren't able to. There is also this responsibility, albeit unwanted, that is forcefully thrust upon you, because now you're an adult, and you have to earn your own keep.

People talk about dreams, and chasing the dreams, chasing greatness and therefore happiness. Well, at this age I kind of realise, not all people are made for greatness, and that for every protagonist, there has to be millions of passers-by. Some people just exist, and don't desire to make a mark. Some people are not motivated to "make it big". So what? It somehow seems wrong to be unambitious. People seem to expect that adults our age are supposed to work damn hard, so that we lead better lives in the future. Why not just lead a better life now? Maybe not materially, but you have your young body damn it! See the world! Do something you can't do when you're 40 and richer. (I can even answer myself at this point in time. Money. Every fucking thing has to do with fucking money. I don't even think it's a good idea to get rid of money, the world would descend into anarchy, and I would suck at surviving in an anarchy.)

I'm just ranting at this point, and it's probably my escapist bullshit. It's been awhile since I had to write to vent, but boy am I glad I can somehow express myself in writing.

Friday, February 26, 2016

the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Today, I see first hand how, and probably why. Language and cultural nuances are so different between different societies, and I cannot believe how I could be so blind to this. I don't know what to say anymore, but there goes another friend. In the long term, this is probably for the better though.

Friday, February 12, 2016

shallow pockets. and other things.

So it's been about 3 weeks since gugu passed away, and the sad feelings are more or less dissipated, and what's left are happy memories. In most ways. I wonder what turned me away from writing as form of therapy, and what made me stop? I can think of no particular thing, but I would like to get some form of writing back. So more writing here, because practice.

So anyway to change the subject abruptly, one day while taking a cab home, my phone fell out from my shallow SAF shorts pockets, and I had to run (full on sprinting, albeit still rather slow, for the first time in years) to retrieve it. Luckily there was a red light, or my expensive coaster would be gone with the cab. So I got my phone back, and while trying to breathe properly, I thought of how shallow pockets, both literally and figuratively, were the cause of many problems in the world. Some problems include stuff falling out of your pants and causing general panic and mayhem when you feel for your wallet and phone, and only feel cloth where your possessions once were. Instead of the money/ezlink card/phone, what you have is air in your hands and a sinking feeling in your heart, not unlike the feeling of dread you had when you had to show your report book with 5 F's to your parents. That helplessness, because the situation is, in your mind at least, FUBAR. (For the uninitiated FUBAR means fucked up beyond all repair.)

Of course, beyond the literal shallow pockets, also come the figurative shallow pockets, also known as having no fucking money. Or just not enough. I don't think I need to elaborate on the societal problems caused by poverty of the general populace. It gets harder to survive, but there are some organisations for some of these people to fall back on. The problem are those that fall through the crack of these organisations, and the people who are just above the line. At this point in time, I should just quote someone from a Youtube comments section who said what I wanted to say, but better:

I believe there are many Davids out there. People who drink a lot but not alcoholics. People who have various reasons to be unhappy but not enough for others to help them. People who are not homeless but still not having a home. People who are sitting on very bottom of the society while still not being outcasts. People who survive and not living, people who have no hope because they lost illusions and dreams. And there is no help for this sort of people. They are not criminals or bad yet their closest ones hate them anyway. Society helping mentally ill, homeless, immigrants and gods know who else but nobody cares or helps people who earn just enough to pay tax, rent and child support, leaving almost nothing for themselves. This society can be fucked up sometimes.

It's true. For the majority of the lower-middle to middle class, people do have to spend most of their income, and basically, every dollar has to go somewhere. There is little to no room for savings, and when something unexpected happens, life is thrown into disarray. But because they make enough, they don't qualify for any form of aid, and organisations look upon their application as if they were frauds. Not that those applications were going to be accepted anyway. But I have to admit, some of this is theoretical, and from my own opinion/experience. I guess I don't like researching about others and talking fact, because that gets in the way of good writing. Who cares about facts anyway huh? I could just put them in the shallow pockets of my SAF shorts and drop them along the way. And I wouldn't even run after the cab to retrieve it.

Monday, January 18, 2016

escape.

I need it. Just somewhere to get away from the bullshit the world has to offer. I have tried to be calm and rational, but sometimes, the people around refuse to let you be. I'm probably not done organising my thoughts through this fucking headache, but that's all I have for now. Just needed to vent.