The Monkey Says: Clogged

It scares me sometimes to think about how clueless I am about the way my life would turn out like in the future. Sure, I do enjoy fantasizing about marrying the richest man in the world and being the ultimate tai-tai, setting tai-tai examples, going places and being happy and in denial that the richest man in the world a.k.a. my husband is still faithful.

Today I wondered about my future and you could say I had pretty much zero clue. All that ever crossed my mind was what my kids would think if I hadn't provided the best for them in the future. Yes yes I know, the narcissistic woman isn't thinking about herself Omg Superman's suit is now black and white, but I believe in what defines me and I'm pretty sure, although I'm pretty clueless about everything else, that my kids would definitely define me. The type of person I am, how I react to spontaneous calls and having to be caught in predicaments, risking everything I have and choosing the best for someone, for once, isn't myself.

I am afraid. That the one thing that could do me good, would one day destroy me. Perhaps it has become known, perhaps it hasn't but the biggest fear has got to be marrying the wrong guy. Sure, everyone does hope and never imagines anything else besides a happy ending. Ten years down the road, with an 8 year old child, a 4 year old sister along with him happily blowing bubbles as they skip in front of your eyes in the most beautiful park. The first day of spring, beautiful weather, a little of one of those winds to get you going, and you're in your dress. Holding the one man's hand you absolutely love and never would want to let go.

Being an optimist doesn't seem to work anymore. You could say I was the most optimistic optimist you would have ever met, but what good does it bring when disappointments are set to suck the living dreams and happy thoughts away from you. When day after day, every single encounter brings you further away from your oh-so-perfect life when you're sipping on your coffee, watching passers-by and pitying every single frown you see, thinking Thank God I'm not one of them.

Yet the very moment you step home, the woman you see with your husband in your bed, isn't you. Isn't even the reflection of you. Isn't another case of Sputnik Sweetheart where you half of you is here and another is there, although I'm pretty sure by then, half of what you are would've been swept away the moment you stare into the eyes of the man you thought loved you with all your heart.

Then, what happens? Sure, we girls, women, vow to never offer a second chance to what it seems to be a deadly sin, never to commit and never to forgive nor forget. Oh my, how many times have I heard one vow to never commit herself to the same man who broke her, yet finding out a couple of days, weeks and months later that they are now engaged.

We live in a pretty fucked up world, don't we? No one really mean what they say anymore and you could kiss anything that is genuine goodbye. Nothing could be more genuine than your genuine Windows which probably isn't genuine anyway. No one fucking cares about anyone and perhaps it's better that way. At least, the happy ones stay happy and the sad ones can eat after the happy one's leftovers. Occasionally earning a buck or two from a little slip of the fingers, because they refuse to bend over and pick up those coins that wouldn't make any difference at all in their bottomless cash bank account.

All we ever do now is make promises and lately, not keeping them seems to be the trend or perhaps that's how it seems to be. Sometimes the most important promises aren't the ones made with the most important person in the world, but the ones you make with the ice cream man, to pay him that 80 cents you owe him from the last time you forgot to bring your wallet out. However these are such petty things compared to your 1 billion contract, building another community centre our youths are bound to vandalise, to show your "concern" in creating a place for the children to let their creativity flow and keep their bodies fit and healthy. Portraying how generous one can be in further bringing the children who are the next successors after us.

Oh boy, a million pair of hands could clap to celebrate and acknowledge perhaps the most generous and noble person, but that doesn't compare to that one ice cream man who sits in front of his 15 inch television who remembers that 80 cents you owe him. That 80 cents that could've saved his newly born baby from dying. Perhaps, even would've kept his wife by his side. Indeed, you are the in the spotlight, neglecting little promises you make, but deep down, I wonder how does it please you. Does it make your heart skip a beat, shiver to the last cord of your spine, does it give you the same euphoric experience one does from being genuine and doing something sincerely.

As I sat there on the grey bricks during my assembly this morning, I couldn't help but wonder those statistics my principal read out loud, and how she prompt us to increase those numbers, make the graph a higher one, to be better than last year, an act of wanting us to do well, or just as another way to inflate her arse all the way to self satisfactory. Whatever you do reflects on the school, the students define the school, which is why we have to be on our best behaviours when visitors come by, deliberately using those LCD projectors and having ICT learning when all I ever do when I listen to those is wonder how much that man/woman who is speaking in that simulation paid. Sure, we do have a television in each and every one of our classes and in the period of my 5 years in this school, I'd say the television perhaps has been turned on for at the most, 5 times? Yes, 5 miserable times in my 5 school years. Sure does define what kind of school we are in despite numerous remarks on it being a Smart school and what not. Promises (HAHA) made to students to have their own notebooks by next year, or that's what they say every single year, has never been fulfilled.

Tell me, what kind of school who claims that every single student is capable of ICT, only has one class enter the computer lab once or at most, twice a year? Now do you even wonder what happened to the computers in our class? Oh, they sure are doing well. I'm sure hundreds of creepy crawly things are now finding their computer homes pretty cosy indeed. Customs which were acceptable once upon a time are being shaped into different ones, yet keeping their age old name though most of us know nothing's the same anymore. Nope.

Every single day, I sit at that very same canteen table, okay, perhaps shifting a table up or down occasionally, but I sit there and I don't know if this is something recent or perhaps my clogged mind has failed to register all the while before, but I have no clue about the 90% there. Perhaps I care too much, and although it doesn't show because I seem to be the most self absorbed human being ever existed among them, but at times I wonder if it's worth the hassle. I sit there and wonder, how many of them would I keep in contact with after my monotonous recess days are over? How many I would actually call up and see if they're doing alright and if everything's okay with them, how've they been, how's that leg you fractured yonks ago, how's that hair you said you would dye the moment you stepped out of school.
I refuse to say the approximate number (or perhaps the non existent number) that appeared in my mind and is appearing in my mind at the moment. I don't make first moves and perhaps that's why a "I don't care" attitude should perfectly fit.

This entire entry? Could mean nothing to me tomorrow.