Monday, October 25, 2004

fingers are not moving, ears are not listening.

Why does nothing... nothing... go the way you want it to.

I know, I know... "Everything is in your hands." "You control your own fate." "Only you can help yourself." Yes, yes, yes. Most of the time, anyway. Like. Good grades. As long as you put in effort and study properly, you oughta at least get a pass.

Of course nobody just wants a mediocre pass, but that's besides the point.

Another example: you want to be a brilliant pianist? Practise piano everyday. After all, you oughta improve by virtue of consistent hard work, yes?

But we all know that the ideal notion of 'effort being proportional to results and success' is pure bullshit. It's a fallacy, a lie that our forefathers concooted up to console themselves over their failures ("We didn't work hard enough, that's why we didn't succeed"). It's empty encouragement for them, to continue vain pursuit of their elusive dreams.

They've passed it down to us through countless generations, where we've internalized it to the point that it's hard to accept that:

Hard work does not guarantee success.

Knowing and accepting it are very different matters.

I reiterate once again, that there will be times where nothing, nothing will go the way you want it to. And it also applies to the predictaments and dilemmas encountered in life.

It's annoying that what little control I had, what little remnants of my self-dignity, are slowly leaving me. In the most tormenting fashion ever endeavored, where the pain is almost exquisite. An isolated art-form, I can coldly look at it from an outsider's vantage and point of view.

There I go again, whinging away.

Stop it, stop it, stop it. I want to write happy thoughts.

Then again, I came across a quote by Fanny Fern, which seems appropriate here:

No happy woman ever writes.



she procrastinated @ 16:32 |

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

lynne embarks on a world-wide courtesy campaign.
check this out.
My net is down. I got caught for downloading media...
full circle.
4 days in paris.
annoyed.
homework.
it takes two hands to clap.
lemme indulge for a bit.
I hate unpacking. And I refuse to do anything abou...

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

"One is wicked, because one see things clearly." - Beaumarchais's Le nozze di Figaro.

And there were phlegmatic souls.