i'm tired

i'm quite the pretentious liar aren't i?

most of the time, the entries only make it as far as being written. honest thoughts about everything under the sun, the people in my life, ideas, even that green ball on my table (which i stole. by the way) make it only as far as just being thoughts. never making it into print, never with evidence. suppose this is my self-defense mechanism, a way to mask myself. then whats the point of all the valued praises of self-expression? how is one to know me? how about the resolve i made in tears, to fucking be more honest faced with the most undesired outcome?

in a way, it sucks being home. but the sense of familiarity and purpose here made me tick, yes it does so well. funnily, 18 months ago i hated this situation, my thoughts went stagnant, numb. but as it is today, it made me realize plenty more things, sure they are different from the ones conjured up im malacca (where it mainly consists of petty ways to pass time, the building of relationships and ways to act) but i suppose the ones here have a more profound meaning. but then again, both seems to be the opposite side of the coin, i guess. each equally important to myself. but... for a strange reason i feel a sense of calmness here. purpose, but also mixed in with a feeling of being trapped.

as much as i love the people who brought me into this world, i could not (i tried, believe me god i did, maybe not as strongly and full of conviction, but i did try. i did and found out it was not for me) live like them. ideas, culture, life,( although i know these thoughts might change even with the discovery of a mere single new idea), all different. its just different. and how i wish i could make them see, make them understand and accept it, but the fear of breaking their tender hearts overpower it. sure, im trying, in my own pathetic little way. but i guess its acceptable to give it time, and just show them how it is. funny, someone mentioned i was dumb,c0mpletely idiotic for wanting them to know these parts of my life. but, i guess it was rather foolish of myself.

god, im so tired of being in a facade. part of me wants to break free, another just quivers in pathetic fear. at this age, it almost seems bizzare for me to be uttering sighs of depression, with all the possibilities around me. experiences waiting to be discovered. sights, smells, textures, all the glorious senses waiting to be aroused. so why am i shaking, shaking so badly that i can't move? why?

i do realize i'm not the one to act alone. and it is sad to think that perhaps i hate the closest ones i seem to have now, it bores me to bits.