an idiosyncratic temperament of psychoticism

Are we really equipped to deal with this tragedy called life? Are we really capable of getting over our grief, trauma, fears and anger? Or are we just putting all our insecurities aside to deal with the tragedy of life?

We think that after a while, everything will be ok, that things will be okay. Do we know who we are, or who we want to be?

Sitting at home, going to work, coming home to bed, I find myself asking this question, am I prepared to live life? Not a fantastic life, not an amazing life, not a challenging life, one of all, but life in general. Maslow's heirachy of needs shows the stages a person's needs changes. The physiological, the safety, the love or belonging, the esteem and their self-actualization.

I'm stuck. I do understand that most psychologist do not regard Maslow's as their base of assessments, but hey, I stopped education halfway, this is the very least I can offer. Based on my belief, (which is flawed and biased) I am hung along the lengths of love and belonging.

Somewhere, somehow, i have managed to estrange myself from my family, not willingly nor forced, yet looking around, I wonder what else is there. I sit in bed night after night, watching TV, and the worst of all, cartoons, if not video recorded cooking shows. If it isn't the TV, then it's the laptop, or even the most basic need to sleep. 

I think I'm being productive at work, marching along with my work, separating my eggs, making creme brulee, but is there anything more? How is it that i am sitting in bed at 3am, when work starts at 10, sick, sniffing away, running a slight fever and a buzzing headache. I should stop complaining shouldn't I?

I know I haven't done a contemplative blog entry for sometime, where the things in life leave me questioning my every move, whether if someone else were living my life, would the consider it a life, or just a waste of oxygen. Could life be any more redundant and lifeless? Could life be anything worth less living?

Sometimes we let go of the most important things for the things that are less important. We forget to look at what could lie behind the image we see, or rather the image we think we want to see. I wish I could walk away, to see you chase me, to tell me, I'm everything, to tell me that, there is a bigger picture, that love is enough. Could it be possible to be wanted and needed, isn't that, oh wait, yes it is, the third level of Maslow's heirachy.

Waiting, hoping, breathing, praying, that perhaps I could be worth it, whatever the price maybe. Just a little consideration, that I am worth, just a little reconsideration. That somehow, something is worth, anything.


We all know who we are, the only question is whether we would like to let anyone know.

I always request that you look at me when I talk to you. This is so that you'll know how I look when I can't speak.

In my pain, I am speechless, and every time you ask me a question, chances are you are not even looking at me, merely relying on your hearing alone. You ask me, and ask repeatedly when I am unable to answer you. I do wish to, but you closed your eyes and I can't speak. You can't see and I can't speak.

I don't know how to tell you what hurts. Your question is simple, yes and no answer. In this time I try, God help me I am trying to answer your question, but I can't, because you can't see my answer.

I want some time. To be myself again. Then again, myself could be giving in, being persuaded, compromising. That is probably more me than anything.

I want to rest, just for a while. I'm really tired of everything. I want to tell you I'm ready to die, and you can't or won't listen. I want to tell you I'm disillusioned with no future, and you tell me that I'm alright.

I didn't want to go tonight, I knew I was tired. I did say I didn't feel like going, but I still did. I want to say, for once please let me rest, but it seems I've done more than my fair share of resting so I should not be.

I thought being sick could carry some weight of not going out. I thought being unwell would garner weight to rest. Now I suffer for my lack of belief in not going. Feeling sickly because I can feel the alcohol churning, having a massive headache because I wanted to rest, and bleeding my guts out.

I thought wrong. Suffering in silence is being at peace with the world.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

To my dearest friends and loves,

As you may know there has been a Christian leader not of our church who has been condemning Gabriel's and my lifestyle. Our choices of living together, being closer than then bible allows as well as our non-commitment to a local church.

Please do read the following exchanges and give me your valued opinion of both sides of the story.

It is a long read, so please unless you have a lot of time, and are really willing to be a judge of this. please, stay out.

( Read more... )
( Gab's answer )

( Random Convos )
no probs! that's what the family of God is for. =)
Honestly, God's family?

Now the journey begins. :D


( Hi, Hi. )

( Gab's reply. )

( Gabriel, Gabriel. Let's talk. )

( So I reply on his behalf. )

So this is the end of Gabriel's and Dear Leader's conversation.


Now, it gets even more exciting!

( Hello Agnetta. Do you have time to talk )


( I'm so nice right? )
'I like your God, I do not like your christians. -Mahatma Gandhi


( Read more... )




( Dear future pastor. )


Well, just to let you know, this leader did not stop her messages, believing in her choice of love and religion helps save the world. Which I guess people who really love people know that this doesn't exactly help. So yes, I am going to post her reply oh why i should be a christian up here.


Hey Agnetta,

well, I guess, if you see this as preaching, then it will only remain as preaching and it will never be able to touch you in any way in your life. And the reason why I used verses upon verses is really not to show how good i am at searching verses and stuffing it down your throats, but because I believe only the truth will set ppl free, which includes me as well. and that sometimes when we paraphrase things, the meaning of things simply gets lost.

And this reply is just an acknowledgement of my respects to your wishes, but anytime, please always remember that you are always free to drop me a message on facebook. From the bottom of my heart I wish the both of you well and that God will guide you into all truth if you allow Him to lead you.

In His love,
G


I have not removed her initial. If you want to check up on her or whatsoever, it's your call. So i am here to show well, it shows how christians love only when the people they love bow down to their version of christianity.

If you are curious, yes i did reply. 'The truth, clear in my face is that you do not care about us. Period. Good bye.'

Well christian, you judge.

"Holiness is separation from sin but not sinners. Wow. Always so inspired by Pastors!"

glanced this phrase off of someone's twitter post. i meant glance and i stopped. i was trying not to laugh. hahaa and preachers are always perfect. because they preach. never practice. WOW! SO HOLY! :D

In our darkest hour, love is the brightest light.

In my darkest hour, my love had wrapped his arms around me and simply told me, 'You have me now.' No, i refuse to let people see my weakness because I will never have an idea how people will react to my instability. But I do know I have someone who will catch me in my darkest hour, and that I know how much Gabriel loves me.


( Always. )
i love you. :*

 

I may never fully understand, but every time it rains the skies clear. We never see God's hands when it rains, only when he pulls the clouds apart.

Watching my beloved sleep, I'm thinking of a love I once had. You may think I'm ungrateful, for even remembering a loss, seeing that I'm one of the few lucky girls in our society. I am not, ungrateful.

I do realise than when J and I were together, we were never happy. Not only were we never happy, we fought, big time. He was lighting I was thunder. I held on to the belief for so long that he was the one, that there could only be him and no other. The belief of perfection. Maybe we were, there was nothing wrong, no loopholes, no instability.

Yet neither were we a gift, to each other or to people around. Friends were telling me if this guy was serious, he'd be serious, he'd be worth the wait. Two months before Gabriel and I got together, he himself told me if J was worth everything then I was to wait. So I waited, shunned, pushed away, abused, scolded, I waited. Stupid, yes. But love is seldom smart, and when it is, it's extremely subjectively biased. There is never a right or wrong in love.

When a chance for a Prince Charming opened, Gabriel slid right in, only because he was standing behind the slot in the first place, ready to pick up the slack where others put off. He wasn't perfect, he isn't perfect, and he may never be perfect, but he makes imperfection work for him. I've learnt from him, that imperfection is our individual perfection. That no one can point out our imperfections simply because our imperfections are different from theirs.

Looking back at this loss who recently contacted me, I am upset. Not because I lost a chance for perfection, but because there was a chance for perfection, and to chance someone else's perfection I was put aside. Flattered much as I am that he would seek me in time of need, after a strong verbal bash down a year ago, it puts into perspective what I clearly see now.



We all have our weaknesses, our holes in the wall, that confusion. It's how shallow we choose to be to show people, how strong we pretend to be, how we deal with it.

Some people, with their inadequacies of dealing with insecurities, hence the word insecurities, trash and show the world their patheticism.

Others have what we call best friends. One outlet/channel of weakness, where this one friend knows your deepest darkest secret. The one friend who always knows your secret crush before you know it. The kind where oops and sorry don't go together. The one where you go to when you are weak, where people see that you have actually have a sense of vulnerability.

Either that or we have a basketful of friends. One from primary school who knows you like the back of their palm, the one from secondary school who knows what you did last summer, two summers ago and three winters ago on that rainy night. Then we all have that tertiary school friend. The friend/fiend/frenemy. No points for elaboration.

Then there are the perfectionists. They are poised, perfect, polite, every P that's good. They are your people persons, the personality, the one everyone wants to be. Strong, picture perfect, never a hair out of place. These are the people who will never even show that they have a problem. They solve it themselves. They get it done. They do it, and better than anyone! And at the end of the day, they sit at the edge of the road and wonder who their friends are, for they have none. Wondering what life could have been more, had they had more friends and less work, if they were less selfish with the world and more selfish with their self-worth and image.

I should know. I am a perfectionist. I want things done, and I want things done my way, and if you don't do it my way, I may as well do it myself. But through my five months with my beloved, I have moved from being the fourth person on my list, to being closer to the third on my list. I do still have my moments, my idiosyncrasies that didn’t leave just because I fell in love.

Looking back now at that failed relationship, I realised that the image for him to upkeep was more important than mine. I was willing to let go of my entire life, to put my life on track, to give up everything I'd worked for, for him, he wasn't. We were both perfectionists, that image was so important, that weakness is prohibited. Only how important is that image to us, is the stronghold. I let go of that perfection, and he wouldn't. It broke my heart damnit. He told me to go away, and I did, eventually. And now to see him asking me for help, is scary.

The one who'd put me down previously, the one everyone deemed was the better man, the hero. To see how far I've come, how much better I turned out within a year or less, while seeing him, hanging in the same position I saw him two three years ago. In our two years minus minus minus, he was my idol. I realise now, I WAS better, a better perfectionist, and a clearer one. Perfectionists want to either be seen, or be hidden. I wanted to be seen, he wanted to be hidden. Our relationship was confined to the four walls around us, and the lock on the grate of the door. I am flattered that he came to me, the one outlet of cringe and helplessness, I am also at the same time aware, why we never worked out. That I wanted to be shown to the world, given a chance for it to work. And him, even in his susceptibility, wanted to be hidden, the image had to be left untarnished. That the emergency given was one to be hidden.

I may have been the only one to see that he had one weakness, but unlike the case of the best friend, I was never seen. I was the background best friend, never even treated as a girlfriend. Looking at his plea for help today, and turning to see my beloved in bed with me, I am thankful, that I had 1, experience and 2, a love who loves me. One who gave me a shove for me to realise what I wanted with my life, the other who accepted me as I was, just the way I am. The latter being Gabriel, haha, the one who took my heart and matched it with his.


Do I still think of him? Yes I do. Wonder if we would get back together? Wonder. We always want what we cannot have, and when we have it, we hop around like kids for a while, and that adrenaline dies down, and you realise what was, was nothing much in the first place.


I am, idiosyncratic, stubborn, irritating, noisy, direct, vindictive, manipulative, selfish, giggly, strange, weird, abnormal, I am also, in love, generous, NICE*, kind, strong, beautiful, talented and courageous. I am Aggie, I am also Agnetta. I am the princess as well as the maid. There lives all of us, in every single one of us, why do we choose to define who we are by what people deem we are?


*For those of you who doubt my niceness, YES I AM NICE. Until you see why I am, at the end of the conversation. I am always able to be nice to get what I want, or to get you to do what I want. I never do anything for nothing, and it is always a better choice when I am direct because there is no “end-game” for you.



`Strong gets you life. All of it.

Let me tell you a story I once heard - a Spanish love story. I don't know whether or not it's true - I'd like to think it is - but I'll tell it to you anyway.

Many years ago, when the sun burned orange all day and the night was wet with the smell of green moss and summer, two young Spanish lovers met in a little fishing village. Each day they would walk barefoot along the great winding dust road, and they would buy bread from the old merchant with a crooked smile. They would sit beneath the old olive tree and talk and laugh and warm their faces in the sun. It was beneath this olive tree that Pedro first kissed Esmirada.

They shared their dreams with each other - Esmirada wanted to study art in Italy and one day become a famous artist. Pedro spoke of becoming the wealthiest man in Spain. But they were young. And when the time came for Esmirada to go off and study, she refused to leave.

Her love had grown so strong, she told Pedro, that she feared leaving him for even a moment would surely destroy her. They held each other beneath the olive tree and they wept.

The next day, Esmirada waited for Pedro on the hill above the dirt road, but he never came. Nor did he come the next day, or the day after that...

Esmirada was heartbroken. Although she searched for Pedro for many days, she never found him. She wrote to him. He never replied. Devastated, she left for Italy.

Esmirada studied for several years and became a sculptor. She sculpted many fine pieces, but her most cherished creation was a replica of the old olive tree she knew as a girl. She eventually became famous, and at her first big international exhibition, the olive tree was sold for a large sum of money. The design was so special that many art collectors wanted Esmirada to create olive trees for their own collections. But she never sculpted another one. It was a one-off, she said.

Forty years passed, and Esmirada retired a wealthy and successful artist. She had married, had many children and lived in a beautiful house. Sometimes, she would think back to those warm afternoons under the olive tree, and from time to time, she would wonder...

Then one day, she received a letter. It was from the attorneys of Pedro Bandida saying that he had passed away. In his will, he stipulated that all his property would be left to her. Attached was a short letter that read:

"To my dear Esmirada,

I became what I always dreamed I would. I am a man of great wealth, perhaps even the richest man in Spain. My fortune is greater than any man could dream of and I leave it all to you - my one and only true love."

So Esmirada made the trip to Spain.

She travelled to the little fishing village and walked barefoot along the great winding dust road. She bought a loaf of bread from the old merchant's store, but the old merchant had long since died. She sat beneath the old olive tree and turned her face to the sun. And she drank in the air.

Afterwards, she got a driver to take her to the address she had been given. Before her stood a beautiful mansion. She entered, and finding the palatial home full of Persian carpets and ornate paintings and gold trimmings, she felt her heart break for the second time.

Esmirada was greeted by a man who told her, "I am the brother of Pedro. I am sorry if you have made this long journey in search of wealth. My brother was a foolish man, and you have obviously been led astray. He did not own this opulent home - I do. He was a poor man with no money. He invested what little possessions he had many years ago and now, all there is to show for it are the contents of this box."

And the brother showed Esmirada to a tall cardboard box sitting in a corner of the room gathering dust.

"But he said in his letter that he was a man of great wealth," Esmirada whispered to no one in particular.

She opened the box, and found a note inside. It read:

"To my dear Esmirada,

To experience true love - whether it is long-lasting or just for a fleeting moment - is to find eternal wealth."

And it was signed:

"From the world's richest man."

The note was attached to a sculpted olive tree that had once belonged to a poor Spanish man who had sold off all his worldly possessions to buy it more than forty years before.



`aw.

I often wonder if I should feel blessed and thankful that my best circle of friends, as well as closest and most active group of friends remains guys. I remember being friends with the strangest people, seniors, only that few girls have remained through at least now.

Looking at my invite list for my chalet, my invitation extends to six girls, and 40 over guys. The irony of life where the path we walk doesn't sometimes reach the bloody damned floor.

I remember what it felt like to sit in front of the mirror, where looking at the mirror and all I could see was me. Now I look into the mirror, and I see, fear, trepidation, anger, ignorance, and at times stupidity, and mostly exhaustion. I forget what it feels like to be energetic, to be happy, to run and jump, to skip and tumble and fly. How to laugh until you're bent over and rolling on the floor.

Now I sit on the floor, and look at the room around me, the sky far away, and I wonder if prison feels the same, where the sky and sun shines above, where pleasure and faith is an open fence away. You can see it, you can touch it, even get a hold of it when it comes close, but realise that it could never truly be yours.


I wish I were young again, when emotions and hormones overpowered the logic, when expressing how you felt through trauma and fear was approved and permitted. When the hormonal reign was your pocket of release? How do you tell someone how you really feel?


The games we play, are the games we chose, do they make you feel powerful?

I need you to be strong. What weight do these words have? Here, now, or at all?


This is the way you left me, I'm not pretending. No hope no love no glory, no happy ending. - Mika



`Like a coke bottle, shaken, waiting, all bottled up.

Proverbs 11:14-19
14 Where there is no guidance, a people falls,
but in an abundance of counselors there is safety.
15 Whoever puts up security for a stranger will surely suffer harm,
but he who hates striking hands in pledge is secure.
16 A gracious woman gets honor,
and violent men get riches.
17 A man who is kind benefits himself,
but a cruel man hurts himself.
18 The wicked earns deceptive wages,
but one who sows righteousness gets a sure reward.
19 Whoever is steadfast in righteousness will live,
but he who pursues evil will die.

Most people have never seen the side of me I choose not to show them. We maintain this facade of perfection, impeccable indifference the epitome of flawlessness.

I want to leave, and walk away, because I can. I want to make hot passionate love to my love in some beach on a secluded island and walk down the length of it in the twilight. I want to leave everything behind, society, people, and life. I want to see the miracles of God's creations once more. Miranda Bailey of Grey's anatomy once said this, "They said God created man in His image, God created the moon and the sun, and all man created was trouble." Unfortunately, close to true.

We don't realise that walking back into God's miracles clears our heads. I want to learn to love again, to laugh and I found that in my love. I want to leave life behind, and walk back to God and His glories. I woke up, curled around a pillow smelling like my love, and the pillow I hitchhiked from my childhood. I remember the afternoon in bed in his arms, knowing that there was nothing else.

The surprising fact of waking up in his bed, albeit alone, was that there was a chance. Snuggling into bed with our pillows tucked around me, and yet all I want is the touch of my love, just a cuddle in between the sheets, our hands together when we walk anywhere. Except when this well muscled guy walked into MMI today morning, and my temporary distraction. The feel of his body when I lean on his chest watching TV. I love the time we spend together, sitting in the corner eyeing people, watching the secondary school girl eyes trail over.


I use to want to walk the streets of nowhere with someone, now I have someone to walk with me. That was all in the past and the past is the past, that future has but one shot.

Take me away, spin me off to wonderland, pack my things and throw me into the luggage with them, run away with me. Love, let's take a trip after the TP. anywhere, as long as I have you. Langkawi, Bintan, Shanghai, Beijing, Bangkok. :D


"You’re my God given solace, woman, don't you ever stop talking to me." -Derek Morgan " I can't now cause I’m mad at you." - Penelope Garcia. And when the wave and the shock of the trauma hits you

I guess we're pretty the same too, especially when you pout then poke me. Grateful and thankful I had a chance with you, whether or not I fought for it. Whether or not I deserved it. I had you, and I have you.


`happy anniversary my love. :*