My name is Tzee Hui, a regular muggle living in an all to muggle-world. 29 is so my day, December is so my month, and year 1991, just rock. I believe in Karma, so I believe in reciprocation. If what you're reading hurts you in any way at all, my bad. It's my blog, so yes I can bitch all I want here. Loves =)

[This post is very personal, you could feel needle poking your heart, don't blame me for I have warn you about this first.]


Straight up to the point, up to this crazy point in my life, I should at least feel slightly relieved I passed 3 final papers up now - 2 more to go, that is. Just somehow, I'm not contented. Not enough to plaster a smile on my face, not immense enough to change the shape of my concave lips.


I think this year has been one quick journey. I can't keep up anymore, I'm just forcing myself to wake up every single day, morning or night, to get myself off my bloody room, knowing that good things are waiting for me out there. And if I pace too quickly with my days that I don't really enjoy those good moments I should have been treasuring right now, then I'm just repeating my past mistakes, over and over again.


I read through M's blog, and his recent post snapped me awake. I couldn't agree more with his words. Everything came pranging on me rapidly. Younger, I don't have these crazy responsibilities, all the obligations that have been bestowed upon me, and I am ought to keep them with me just so I don't forget what or where I want to head in life, just so I don't dissapoint people who cares about me. I might have felt this before when I was in secondary school, when I was so hooked up with the extra curricular, that I felt this whole priority thing to make people feel proud about my achievements, whether big or small. That 'job well done' pat on your shoulder, totally pays off with every single tears, curses, or storms that have gone me by. and now I have forgotten how it feels to be pated that way again.


oh yeah, I could be very dumb when I was small. Like hello, I'm just, 7? I wouldn't know how to spell r-e-s-p-o-n-i-b-i-l-i-t-y, I wouldn't care less if people were talking about me behind my back, I cared about nothing at all. No staying up all night just to plaster a smile on my parent's heart with my results, no crying out loud because my friends hurted me, no sulking because I felt offended, no feeling bad because I didn't do enough to please people, no depressions because I wasn't contented. Needless to say, I am a free child, no worries, no compromising, no frets, all smiles.


So now I know what it means, when people tell me they are so reluctant to grow up. Like I use to hear those ALOT when I was young. Back then huh. There I was standing short and small in front of them, whispering by myself and thought, "foolish, you have the money to spend, freedom to go wherever you want, to have anything you wanted, but you want to be like me, at home doing nothing but being babified".
I was too eager to grow up; to make my own money, make my man and family proud, to keep all heads lower than mine, do my own shopping, choose my own clothes, spend time outside rather than staying at home reading novels by the fireplace, to be independant, to make wrong decisions in life, to go against my conscience, to hurt people with my faulty actions, to be the middle man, to know how it feels to be depress and be secluded, to be apart of every single wrong things in life, and maybe I am also eager to join the wrong society in this world. Shoot me, I am stupid. Or maybe right.


Totally ironic, we don't know what awaits us in the future, we know nothing. We cannot simply guarantee a 100% that something will definitely happen, unless of course, you're God in diguise. Things change, whether you like it or not. When people around you change, you would have realised, start judging about their new personality and attitude, not realising that you yourself, might have changed too, and that other people out there could be discussing about you.



and when we were small, we don't need to care about anything. ok maybe something. Like when you don't get things you wanted (like barbie dolls eww) you'll start ranting in a way that you shriek on the top of your lungs and the old man and woman go "shhhhhh", in 5 minutes you know you already have what you wanted in your hands. yeah try doing that shrieking thing again, wait for a spank on your cheek.


anyway as I was saying, (ok I won't say 'we' because you are not me. I shall use the active voice) when I was small, I don't know what are zits. I even thought pimples were peppers. and no I'm not joking. I don't care if I have zits on my face, I don't care about eye bags and dark eye circle, I don't even know what were fashion senses. I don't care if I'm fat, I don't care what people think about me, I don't need to dress up and look all nice before I expose myself to the sky. I don't care about my results because my parents, my siblings are there to guide me along with my studies (and those times were just A for apple, B for boy. Not A for Atomic Structures, B for B-field, C for College, so on so forth). I don't have to feel left out in a conversation, I don't have to watch my spendings, don't have to be heartbroken because my former best friend betrayed me, don't need to filter words from my mouth because I don't know what is 'fuck' yet (lol YET), don't have to waste nights with wet, gushy pillows and rough enviroments because men are stupid. Now? Everything is vice versa. We humans, are starting to get so conscious with everyday life, that we are judging and commenting on every little petty things that pass us by. People get so selfish and greedy with materials, they start to back things up for the betterman of themselves only.


I think I'm gonna stop typing and do more thinking. The urge to type has stopped, to talk, is kicking in. I want to get out of my room and yell at the people standing directly outside my window talking so loudly. Like can't you find any other better place to sit and talk than to raise your voice outside my bloody room you freaking bitches and bastards.



I want to write a novel, because a novel, is just a novel. Never in reality. Mine larh, that is. I know that I can choose to be happy or sad. Somehow, I chose this.

Where is the red coloured grape flavoured drink when I need it. Where is my lavender scented jacuzzi with rose petals bath when I'm in desperate need of it. I wanna go for a swim. Anyone?

Labels: life