I’ve called myself a cynic before. And I am one. Which is why it’s just so incredibly shocking that I can be optimistic about so many things. And every time I am, something or the other happens that totally destroys the entire concept of there being a thing such as ‘happiness’ or ‘good fortune’.

Take my current university project. My group’s was a train wreck. An unbelievable train wreck. I’d like to blame circumstances and the people around us, because in all honesty they were an important factor in the crap-heap that was our project – but there is a part of me that knows we have to take the blame too. Maybe if we had worked faster in the beginning we might have been able to salvage something. Maybe if I had held the reins tighter I could have led us to a better outcome. But I didn’t. And all of us panicked too late.

I don’t know what to think anymore. This has driven such a wedge in my already-minimal motivation that I don’t want to study at all right now. I just want to sleep. Or curl up and cry. I want to stop everything and scream at everyone until all the anger I feel has completely dissipated. Except I know I won’t do that. I’m going to try salvaging what we have, and I will remain optimistic about what we can do. Because I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?

It’s times like these when I think back on every possible instance of procrastination and go, ‘If only I’d done it then’. Not everyone learns from their past. Some, like me, are incredibly stubborn about the way they’ve carried on, and insist that they can pull through the same way. In the end, it hurts them, and they know it, but will they change? That can only be seen with time.

I want to change. I plan to. Regularly. Just haven’t got off my lazy bum to do it yet.

Blues of a Wishful Writer

Sometimes I think I have the capability to be a writer. But then I wonder, do I really? I tend to ramble, write on and on about things that don’t need to be explained, and that are sure to bore people too. See what I did there? I defined rambling. Seriously, though, it’s one of the biggest problems I have.

The second is worse – my inability to come up with clever things.  I’m not clever. I know that. I really wish I was. I even tried to look up something on how to be wittier, not just once but on a few occasions. I didn’t find anything useful since most of it revolved around being confident and having pre-planned material. Pre-planned! Can you believe it? How is that going to help me become wittier? It’s not helping me think faster. It’s already there in my head! Maybe it was the first step to being witty, and maybe you get better with time, but I didn’t see the point. What I got from all that was – you just have to be born with the ability.

So, compounded with this lack of witticism is my severe comedic handicap. Cracking a joke is like… cracking ribs. It’s painful for me. And for others no doubt. I have dry humour I guess (sort of), but an outright joke? Yeah. Not happening.

I want to write. I really, truly, wholeheartedly do. But I criticize my own work so much, like hell I’m letting anyone else read it. I take criticism badly, too. And of course, the bright red cherry on top, I never finish what I start. I discourage myself, or get bored, or whatever it is. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m still studying, too, and writing isn’t the field I want to pursue. But I wish it was, you know? I wish I could write like J. K. Rowling, or Patrick Rothfuss, or Tony Vigorito. Amazing, witty work.

Maybe it’s all just a dream. Maybe I’m mentally wandering down this path because I just don’t want to go back to the major course project I have due in a few days. Escapism. That’s what my life seems to be all about.

Criticalness and I

I forget sometimes how critical I am. Not ‘critical’ in the ‘I’m about to lose my shit’ sense – but ‘critical’ as in, ‘inclined to judge and find faults’. It can be anything, nothing, something – I am here to find flaws and tear it apart. Odd how that isn’t what I’m like if you meet me. Or am I? I can’t speak for other people’s impressions of me, but I really do think I come off as a happy if somewhat distant person.

But here’s the thing. I enjoy criticizing, even if it’s only in my head, even if it’s only myself (I actually really enjoy berating myself – guess it’s true that I have masochistic tendencies). I don’t want to be critical of people, but I. Just. Can’t. Help. It. I just can’t. Not possible, not happening, whoops sorry. It’s like a self-preservation instinct – don’t know what it’s preserving really, but it just kicks in when I’m with people.

HEY, now I sound like an anti-social shut-in, too. I’m not a hermit, I swear. All right, maybe a little anti-social, but I aim to change that. *Nod to self* Maybe if I start mingling more, I might be able to be a little less critical – you know, if you meet different kinds of people, you tend to be more open-minded… ? No? I think you do. I got off my high horse recently and realized that people I previously discarded as ‘Yeah, whatever’ are actually really nice, genuine people. More than I can say for myself. But self-deprecation later – I’m serious, I dismissed them as beneath me and only recently realized that I wasted a decent amount of time deprived of good company. And also, company that could have been useful.

Eventually, I suppose that’s what it boils down to. Knowing useful people. Not just for monetary or social gain, but for your own self. I mean, people who are useful when you’re depressed because they can make you laugh. People who are useful  when you’re being unreasonable because they can slap some sense into you. People who can understand when to give to space, when to intervene, when to push you into doing something you should but don’t have the courage to do.

No, these people are not necessarily friends or family, but I think over time that is what you see them as. That is what they become from just ‘People You Happen to Know’. Or perhaps that is why your friends and family are important to you. *Sigh* I suppose you could also call that love.

See? Cynic. Someone might think I’m breaking down important relationships based on love into brittle things based on use. But isn’t every relationship based on some element of use? Maybe that’s an argument for another day. Here I am diverging and converging topics when all I really wanted to do was talk about my … criticalness. Is that even a word? (It is, according to

But I suppose there really isn’t much to say. This happens to make up an important part of who I am – it’s not one I’m proud of, but I can’t imagine life without being critical. Or being a cynic – that’s just part of my programming. Time might change me, but until then, this is who I am.