Pink Slip

If you can pick some colour to describe your life, what would it be?

The colour that best describes my life, is the colour of black. Like black, I'm unknown, foreboding, mysterious. Like black, a certain elegance, a certain melancholy, a certain incomprehension of the lightness beyond. Like black, uninviting, disquieting, mourning.

Life's a bitch. Long hours proving lots and lots of theorems, falling sick time and again from all the stress, learning new abstract concepts everyday. And now, another new thing to make me go down to hell all over again—another rejection.

How much fun it is, to be rejected, time and again, not because of some reason over cheating, or over some misunderstanding, but because one is just oneself. Apparently, honesty is something that no one ever treasures in this world; you see crooks getting away with eloquent lawyers, girls being attracted to "bad" boys, and cheaters of all kinds gaining all the advantages from the cheating they do. There is so much that happened in the recent few weeks that I think that I've not treated well enough in this blog. Most of my words are incoherent and incomplete, and are in general, just full of short, punctuated words with hardly any meaning.

The sad thing is that while I wanted the latest to succeed, deep inside me, I knew that it would fail. There's so many reasons why it could fail, and knowing my denseness, I'll probably not know the real reason why it fails. Nor do I want to really look into this issue. I've realised that the me that I know, is just a good worker and no more. All those hocus pocus of having some kind of a human spirit within me is just plain hogwash. And sadly, though I think that I'm some kind of a nice guy, the truth is really far from the matter: I think now that I'm probably among the most insensitive cad to have walked on this earth.

I have no soul. All that remains is just the husk of what was me. I'm no longer like anything that I was. I tried playing the 笛子 recently and realised that my embouchre is completely and utterly screwed and that my fingers are not as dextrous as they were. When I walk, I realise that my legs do not move as fast as before; the quick rolling hip gait has been slowed down by the rolls of fat that have gathered around my thighs. When I talk, I realise that I'm no longer coherent, nor am I able to assert myself strongly. Why? What has gone wrong with me?

I'll probably never know. *sigh* Ranting on a blog can be fairly therapeutic, but then again there are things that I feel I should never really put up on the blog, no matter what circumstance. People don't really like me (that's a fact), and I now start to think that females actually loathe me. It's really sad to be in such a state; the sense of lost that one feels whenever one looks around and realises that one is truly alone is really frustrating.

Perhaps it is true that I'm not suited for having relationships. I know, for a fact, that people talk to me only because they have a pressing need to; given a choice, no one will actually initiate a conversation with me. Actually, this is proven through the simple act of who starts the conversation on any form of instant messaging; it is I who is usually the initiator, and I can let my IM clients run for days on end with no one wanting to chat unless they have something that they want to ask me about.

So, why not change? Sure, change sounds like a good idea, but the question is, change into what? Kangyi, during his mini-excursion over to CMU earlier this semester, told me that I should tone it down, because people cannot really understand why I do things the way I do. Cui told me (many many times) to be a little more normal. Latest girl cited issues of incompatibility for the rejection, which I think should be interpreted as she telling me that I do not inspire security and other relationship related stuff. Normalcy—what are you, really? Does it mean that I need to dumb down myself so that people can understand what I say? Or does it mean that I've been spouting gibberish for so long that no one can understand what I mean?

*sigh* All these internal anger just whirrs around in my head. It's not anger at the people around me (why would I want to do that?), but anger at my own ineptness. So much... pain comes from within, but I still show a zany face to the world, showing that things are still kinda fine. But who am I kidding, really? In the past, I've made Esther angry enough to not want to talk to me, YT angry enough to still not want to talk to me via online means, and a whole plethora of other people that I don't want to start mentioning. It's sad. Really sad.

When will I ever learn?