Smile and Die

I rarely find anything worth blogging about, don't I? Ashes to Flames is basically about feelings, girls, mindless rambling, feelings, girls... and feelings. I mentioned feelings, didn't I? Yes, feelings.

2010 has been different to me. Well, every year is, but then... 2010 felt significantly different. I learned about how complex feelings can be, the depth of feelings, their ever-changing chemistry between people and just how very tiring they can be to normal teenagers like you and me. Sometimes borderline suffering.

I've discovered of how to actually like a person.

Discovered rejection (indirectly, mind you.), and how bloody hell painful it was.

That spike, blasted spike from the pits of the underworld, a piece of Hades' own black soul, just puncturing your heart like a buttering knife slicing a bun...

You get over it.

Weak. Hurt. Bloody. Teared up. You get over it. (yeah, you do.)

I'm alive, aren't I?

So like the opening scenes from Halo: Reach, you pick up your assault rifle after a long day and just walk up that hill to get a face full of sunshine... the new horizon!

And you just see another bloody day coming your way. Horizon's there, but it's dark red and screaming at you. Sure, birds fly and the sun shines, but the heat gets to you, and that deja vu from the previous battle stirs up your insides.

You get ready your gun, but you know, once it's over, it's gonna start all over again. The same hill, the same anticipation for a happy ending... but a different horizon with a new kind of horror. Sometimes you wish you were just dead, and heck with all this.

It's just not worth it.

Or maybe you're detached from all of it? Hide in the shadows, and strike from within the shadows. Like the lone hero from Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, you have nothing to lose and you just work it all until the end. No one's waiting for you once you're done, so just end it all with a jab of that hidden blade.

No one knows, no one cares.

I can't say much. What I have locked in my mind can compromise everything I care for. But I do wish someone can unlock them. Anybody willing to do an extraction from my dreams like Dominic Cobb from Inception?

Then you'll get to see my dreams. Dark, blank, empty and meaningless. Yet under that seemingly plain blanket a sea of storms pulses, sucking in everything that gives me peace and serenity.

I try to make people happy. I try, I really do. And in the end, I get shot in the heart. But I don't care. As long as that person is happy... what can I do?

Smile and die.

xD

*This post has nothing whatsoever to do with anyone real, fiction, or even dead. Not related to anyone. No. Not really.*

*Maybe one.*

Bobby Blues

Sorry. I dunno why I said that. So sudden, so out of the blue. So... well, not to say spontaneous. But then again I don't know who to say sorry to.

I got nothing to blog about, actually. And this is sure as hell not a retarded version of Blues' Clues, so no worries.

I've never actually believed in the blues. I mean, what? ''Hey man, what's up?'' ''Oh hi, oh nothing much, just feeling blue,'' ''what the f*ck, is that some sort of disease?''

Oh, ignorant me.

Yeah, once I knew what the blues were, I didn't believe crap out of it. It's not actually feeling sad, and it's not actually feeling like those emo-goths, but the blues were kind of a stand-alone term.

Well, now that I've been infected with such, I came to believe it. I dunno why. There I was, eating a cracker, and whoosh, it came down like rain on me. And the annoying thing is I don't know why I'm feeling so damn blue.

Funny thing is blue is a different meaning with the Brits. ''Oh, feeling blue,'' ''Oh my god, you watch pornography, you bloody fool!'' Oh yeah, I love the way they talk. OK, I'm not gonna go deeper on porno in the UK.

Then I have those self-analysis kind of tests, you know. Asking myself questions in my head. It's like your very own psychiatrist within your consciousness. ''How are we today?'' ''Oh good, good. Can't wait for our session to begin.'' ''Oh and by the way, you left the toilet seat open, Mom's not gonna be happy about that.''

Gosh, what's wrong with me? Lame jokes, man. Lame!

Ehem. Anyway. Started with one question: anything bothering you?

Why, yes.

Do you know why?

No, and if I do, I won't be here talking to myself.

Do you have the smallest of clues of why you are experiencing the blues?

Erm. Sort of. But not sure.

And why so?

Because this is the part where you come in and tell me if I'm right or wrong.

Ah. Care to elaborate your suspicions first?

Well... I think it's girls. But I dunno if that's believable. I mean, I've never had trouble with 'em before...

Until now.

Right. Until now.

Precisely.

So what now?

See, this is why self-psychiatric help is free. Because it only helps you identify the problem. The rest... well, the rest is up to you, dear fellow.

Okay. That was really helpful. Really. But why do you talk with a British accent?

I'm gonna spare details. What goes on in my mind is possibly very disturbing for some. So I've been having those kind of sessions with myself almost everyday. And it ends up with the same thing.

Don't you get it, man? GIRLS! Good grief, get a hold of yourself and do SOMETHING about it!

Well, I was pretty smart to know that it didn't mean I had to go online and check those kind of websites...

So what was it? What was my problem with girls? I don't hate them. No, I admire them. Especially the hot ones. If I weren't lazy, I'd include a picture of me jiggling my eyebrow in a most suggestive way right here.

I don't think they hate me. Do they? I get along fine with them. Always kept my dirty jokes in line with them. Maybe some girls harbor some hatred towards me in a spiritual way? And my spiritual antenna is picking up the backlash of that hate while they hide it behind their faces.

Because let's face it, when girls say something, they mean something else different entirely. It's not like guys. When they say something, they actually mean that. I know you've probably heard of it, but let's just hit that refresh button on the window toolbar...

Guy: I'm gonna watch football.
Real meaning: I'm gonna watch football.

Girl: I prefer to shop at Versace's than Levi's...
Real meaning: Screw Levi's. I wanna shop at Versace's. NOW.

But one thing about girls, well they know how to break someone down gently. While guys can be extremely blunt and hurt someone's feelings, girls can do it gently. I admit girls can do that.

Why the heck am I getting off topic?

Wait. I don't have a topic to begin with anyway.

Maybe I'm being paranoid. I am quite paranoid. But that doesn't justify this, this... blue feeling. Gah.

The conclusion I can come up with from this meaningless rant... after several pointless hours of thinking and more hours of more pointless thinking... when I could've done the dishes, send my prefect blazer to the dry-clean shop or put down the toilet seat...

It all spirals out of control and all down onto my own messed up feelings which I'm relating in a this somehow-very-gay post. I can imagine Ishaq saying, ''Talking about feelings now, are we? Nice. Very gay. Very you.'' Well, just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon...

Is it because of the girl I like? I mean... I've liked her for a long time already. I dated with this hot chick from Perak to get over her. And it didn't actually work out. Broke off after a month. Maybe because long-distance-relationships don't work and because when I'm with that girl, I keep thinking of another face. Boy, Perak girl must hate my guts now.

I'm sorry Perak girl. I won't say your name to protect your interests. I don't want your friends going like, ''Oh, so that's your loser of an ex-boyfriend. Girl, you suck. Why pick a prick like him?''

And to protect my interests too. I don't want your big-bodied brother (I shit you not on that)
coming to my doorstep on a sunny Sunday afternoon with a crowbar and a gang of angry Mexican cholos carrying around Uzi submachine guns.

Anyway, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to use you as a smokescreen, that was so of an asshole of me. I don't think you can stop hating my guts, but just know I am sincerely sorry about it. KL guys ain't that reliable, you know... not actually boyfriend material.

And to that girl I like... well, you'd probably hate my guts too if you knew I was liking you. You're a great girl and I was lucky to know you. No, I'm not gonna reveal names here. That would destroy me somehow and though this girl doesn't have connections with Mexican cholos, I'd really like to bury this one with me.

I really hope I can somehow forget it and move on. And goodness help me, get these blues off me. Get the f... never mind. See ya.