Thursday, April 24, 2003

01:16 a.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

Emphasizing My Disclaimer

The minute I read the comments left on my blog (by this time Dinesh had e-mailed me already), I immediately typed out an e-mail to poor Dinesh:

Hi Dinesh!

Apologies if you felt that I was responding negatively to you and what you wrote specifically. I assure you that I do not feel slighted in the least. Had I felt offended, I would not have put up a link to your blog, as when I wrote about "Be Aware of Your Wishes."

Everyone says I'm immature and I fully agree. Had I felt slighted and upset, and felt a need to express my opinion over it, I assure you that I WOULD have e-mailed you. Indeed, Dua Sen's entry had been up for weeks, and all I felt was delight at getting so many visitors that way.

My purpose in writing on my blog is to clarify issues in MY OWN HEAD. Your blog, and Dua Sen's, were simply inspiration for a topic.

I really apologize that you felt that I was hitting at you in any way. I truly didn't mean it.

When I saw two separate blog entries, mentioning me as an example of children, I was very amused, and decided to figure out how I felt about being mistaken for a child, which has happened to me for years and years and years.

Truly, my blog was nothing against you. I really apologize. In truth, I'm always grateful to anyone who links to me and sends traffic my way. I cannot control how other readers react to my blog entries, nor what people comment. Please note that what they comment is not necessarily what I believe in.

As najah said in the latest comment to the entry: "What a blogger intends as a comment, can be read as criticicm by another." I truly meant no criticism. I meant only to comment on my own immaturity and how I feel about it.

My sincere apologies for the misunderstanding,
HANI

I write to organize and clarify the chaotic jumble in my own head. Imagine a room, full of people, trying to speak of all sorts of things, all at once. That room is my head. This blog, is the speaker's podium, where each voice in my head, with it's different topic, is allowed to speak. Without this blog, all those voices would be just one huge buzz of a single room full of people.

If I were to write something deliberately offensive (very rare), I assure you that it would be more obvious than an obscure phrase in the middle of a long, confused entry. Read my blog, or don't read, as you choose, though I'm grateful to any who do. Those who take offense, read my disclaimer!

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030424

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

05:01 p.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

Tip-toeing out of the Comfort Zone

To my surprise, I announced a huge reluctance to leave my cave of a bedroom. Yes, I've been in this dark, miserable little cave, for the past twenty-four hours, with no sunlight nor food, simply because I'm scared of the world.

Yay, Hani is back where she was in New York three years ago.

But of course Hani is not really like she was, and Hani won't be spending a whole week doing this. For one, Hani has family who would notice if she doesn't come out for a whole week, and they'd drag me out. For another, Hani's elder sister has two tickets to The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) and I'm accompanying her.

But Hani is very scared to leave her little cave, despite knowing that there are many wonderful things out there, particularly because there are so many difficult things out there, and Hani is pretty much a useless piece of ass who finds it much easier to sit in her dark, little cave of a bedroom and not do anything useful with her life.

So, determined not to be such a useless piece of ass, Hani will write down right here what Hani aims to do today that will get her out of the stupid little cave. First, Hani will call a friend. Calling a friend doesn't require actually leaving the cave, so is a good step to start with. Then, Hani will scuttle to the kitchen, and find a bite to eat. Then, Hani will take a bath. Then Hani will take her Statistics book in the dining room and hold it like it's dear life, and hopefully, somehow, by just hugging the Statistics book, she will find the courage to actually open it and absorb some knowledge in time for her Statistics test on the 29th.

Argh. Life would be much easier if I didn't have weird phobia.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030423a

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

05:42 a.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

stupidest symptom of depression

It irritates me that I feel bothered by it.

I mean, I have so many other things to be depressed about. Statistics is miserable, I pissed off my elder sister, I pissed off a very good friend, I don't have a cellphone, my body clock is completely upside-down, my boyfriend's parents are accusing me of wrapping their precious son around my little finger (as if that boy doesn't do his own bloody wrapping of me), my computer is cuckoo, and Streamyx doesn't seem to be coming to me any time soon. Basically, the problems are many and various.

Don't get me wrong. I got good stuff going on too. I get to use the car while Kak Mi is on holiday in London. There's a kitchen full of edible food for me. My relationship with my boyfriend has never been stronger. I'm going to go out tomorrow night. I have a t-shirt still freshly smelling of my boyfriend. I have a week where I don't have to go to classes.

But really, all the headaches and the little pleasures don't seem to be as niggling and as constant in my head as this teenie weenie unimportant problem. I mean, it's not important or significant or anything like that. It's just something that sticks to the back of my mind constantly. Non-stop. Very irritating that it does that.

Since my boyfriend left, I haven't had a single orgasm!

It's really disturbing. Well, I haven't been able to give myself an orgasm since a few days before he left. Hmm, I might possibly be depressed.

But damn, it's an irritating way to be depressed.

Here's hoping that ovulation will get my body desperate enough for an orgasm....

Then maybe I'll feel a little more normal.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030423

Tuesday, April 22, 2003

12:28 a.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

Ashamed of Myself

To face the shrine, I need to feel at least slightly worthy of the shrine. I need to feel a little like I deserve to speak.

Right now, I feel like someone should tie me up, gag me, and put me away into an air-tight container, and throw me in the sea. Of course, I also feel like someone should print a manual on How to Redeem One's Self.

So, until either event or some other equivalent happens, I doubt that I can bear to face the Shrine of Honesty of Sorts.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030422

Sunday, April 20, 2003

05:45 a.m. Kuala Lumpur Standard Time

I'm No Baby

I'm apparently being mistaken for a "teen" or a "prepubescent kid" by blog readers. This is rather disturbing to me, since I'm actually twenty-two, and have been so for over four months. Admittedly, I'm somewhat childish in behaviour and manner, and I'm still depressingly dependent financially on my parents.

What makes for a mature person? Someone who doesn't write about sex and missing her significant other? Someone who talks about depressing issues of no personal signigicance to me like SARS and a war miles away? Perhaps a mature person is financially independent of her parents.

Definitely, lately, I do not feel mature. I just got scolded this weekend by three separate parties for my inconsiderate tendencies. I feel inadequate, powerless, and very confused. Through observation, I have come to believe that such feelings of inadequacy, powerlessness and confusion were feelings that continued to old age, however.

What am I missing on my blog that I am assumed to be a youth, rather than a young adult?

Looking back at my teenage years and my "prepubescent" years, I feel compelled to note that a prepubertal child would not write about masturbating. I was in fact, unable to voice anything coherent. I could barely put words to the emotions running around in me around the beginning of puberty. This is possibly the reason why so many kids out there tend to write little diaries of the events of their lives.

The vocabulary most children are most comfortable with and accustomed to are active verbs, rather than fancy shmancy adjectives and nouns. "reaffirmation of the Daily Me and the Daily Us being one and the same" is a quote from Dinesh Nair. Tell me, what fifteen-year-old can truly understand such phrases? Teenagers who are able to write with sincere and honest depth is not the norm, but an amazing rarity.

Don't mistake my words for a child's. I spent years seeking the vocabulary to describe how I feel. I spent more years silent and unheard because I did not even know that words could be used to describe my emotions, my actions and their reasons.

I am twenty-two years old. I don't talk about diseases, politics, philosophy, nor activism. Neither do I talk about what I ate for lunch nor when my mother gives me my pocket money. I do speak about my family, my boyfriend, my education, and my friends. Would you notice that I am in my twenties if I replaced the word "education" with career, and "boyfriend" with future fiancé?

In the end, why should I care if you mistake me for a child or an adult? Because I managed to live to age twenty-two without killing myself or being murdered by others. I managed to dump my first boyfriend after two years of dissatisfaction, and keep my second for over two years of various obstacles. I managed to reach college, despite an irrational phobia of assignments, teachers and attending classes. I managed to screw up and piece back a good relationship with my parents. I managed to keep a huge group of very, very good, supportive friends. I managed to hold onto a semblance of self-esteem, and avoiding complete and utter despair.

I am not, today, who I was at sixteen or twelve, and I do not want to be mistaken for the children I was at those ages. Maybe I haven't turned out as mature as I ought to be, but that should not invalidate twenty-two years' worth of experience and change. To mistake me for a teen, is to dismiss the two years I dated Tariq. To mistake me for a prepubescent kid is to dismiss the years I learnt to develop my vocabulary to write this very entry.

So, just in case you just skimmed through the whole entry, and missed all the important parts, here's the summary. I'm twenty-two years old.

Be honest.
Link to the start of entry: #20030420