This Is My Truth.

This Is My Truth.

I don’t think I’ve learnt much over the last 5 years. From finishing my ‘O’ Levels til now, I’m essentially the same person: timid, long-haired, nervous, slightly neurotic, with a penchant for saying stupid things at the worst times. Or with a penchant for saying stupid things. Period. Without a doubt, these last 5 years should’ve been a launching pad for a whole new world of responsibility and experience, but in the end, I’ve been living my life as if I’d never have to move on to any next step or stage. The problem with that, I suppose, is that although I try to convince myself that I do regret it, I don’t regret it at all. There’re no feelings of remorse to be found. And you’d suspect that there’d be something wrong with that. I mean, I’m supposed to be conscientious. It’s in my genetic makeup.

I envy my friends who have moved on. They’ve graduated, and now they’re picking up the pieces of whatever they’ve left behind…on the pathway to some sort of redemption after years of slogging it off. Granted, it’s a whole new world of slogging away, but…c’mon…you’ve got to admit, earning your own money to buy stuff you always wanted without consulting your parents is a whole new form of independence that anyone would want. I might have been critical of their situations, but at the same time…it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Though sometimes, I do still think that my path leads along a different way. Just that like everyone else in my situation, I’d love to achieve a lot with the bare minimum amount of effort possible. And that, my friends, might be my utter undoing.

Y’see, beneath the veneer of this underachieving (yet highly loveable) bum, beneath the façade that I’ve managed to put up, I’d love to be something certain and concrete. I suppose that all of us question ourselves why we do whatever it is we’re doing. Some of us have had set plans. Most of us are just unorthodox and jump straight in without thinking twice. I’d prefer to think of myself as the latter. And with the mess that I’ve started, I’ve got to get out of it. Isn’t that what living’s about? Getting out of scraps?

I’d love to be a man. A real man. Someone who can take responsibility for those whom he cares about. I’d love to be the kind of man that can take care of everything and settle everything because he has the resources to do that…and to shower everyone around him with the respect and dignity that only a man of his stature can.

I’d love to be a husband. Be there for whoever it is all the time, and just be there. And be patient, and be willing to always listen, not because I don’t have a choice, but because it’s what I’d do. By default, I’d love to be the kind of person who can love unselfishly, who will always give whatever possible to make sure it works out. I’d try my best not to overdo it, but I’d be her best friend whenever possible. I would never cheat, I would never be pulled away. I would only have eyes for one person.

I’d love to be a father. And raise a child the way that my parents didn’t raise me. (Though in this instance, I think about myself, and have admitted that I would want to have a cool child. A jock, who also embraces pop culture and the arts). I would ensure that my child is given a rocking childhood. Memories fit to be put into photo albums, to be shown for years to come. A picture perfect environment. Something fun.

The reality is as far from this as possible. These days, these dreams are just that: dreams. We can all be wishful thinkers and say that it’s a possibility, but it’s drizzling shits and none of us are wiser for it. But I’ve already laid the gauntlet down by stating what it is I do want for my future. The task at hand is to achieve it. I suppose that the amount of time it’d take is irrelevant. I suppose that the means to the end is irrelevant. I suppose that I’d have to work my arse off. In hindsight, I can see where I’ve gone wrong, and how far I’ve gone astray upon the path to achieve all this.

But then again, it wouldn’t be me, would it? I mean…I am supposed to be the spontaneous one. The question is…would I really want to be identified with that? I remember talking to someone at college…she assumed that I was the perpetual optimist because of the way I behaved. I told her otherwise…and she surprised. Maybe I am a perpetual optimist underneath it all…just that it’s all suppressed.

Though the character analysis isn’t really my thing.

I don’t want to say that I feel helpless in my situation. In truth, we’re not helpless, no matter how dire the surroundings. We make choices all the time. And sometimes, the circumstances of those choices are very, very obvious. We’re totally conscious of those decisions. It’s just a matter of taking an initiative to do things right. And for some strange reason, I don’t have that initiative. I don’t think that I ever had it. I’d prefer to stay at home and procrastinate. I’d tell you it’s because I like the “pressure” from doing last-minute work or whatnot…in truth, it’s probably because up to a critical point, I can’t be bothered to even lift a finger to help myself.

I take solace in knowing that I’m not the only one like this. But it doesn’t make anything better; it doesn’t make anything right.

I love my life. And I know that there can be a lot more going for it than what it’s like know. Definitely. I guess getting to wherever is the important part. People would debate whether it’s the journey or destination that’s more important. I don’t really care…I think we’d have that figured out once we get to wherever it is we want to go.

So…have I made mistakes these last 5 years? Plenty. Am I paying for them now? Yes. But I can’t say that they were all wrong choices. I can’t say that I should rightfully feel remorse. Sinatra did it his way, and we all do it our way. That’s the way it goes. Maybe it’s time to shift in a new direction, y’know? But at the end of the day, after this peppy post, I know that I’m going to go back into being me. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll be better off for it. I mean, even Justin managed to do work during the morning. And he’s the perpetual bum. That itself is inspiring, to a degree (he subsequently slept for the whole day and woke up a short time ago).

This is my truth. Show me yours.