Feeling stupid and I don't know why.

R said after doing it more times, freezing shouldn't happen to me in class anymore.

I don't know if that is true.

I only know that it always happen in E's class. I mean, it also happens in others' classes, like M's. But it always always happen in E's class.

Maybe it is because in his class, I always feel very incompetent.

I always feel useless and stupid in his class.

...

I shared with G just now that ironically, I seem to enjoy doing things that make me feel stupid.

I enjoy language classes, but they always make me feel stupid.

Well, as a matter of fact, I just got my test results. Most of my classmates scored 90+. I scored the mirror image.

And that adds to it, I guess, although I mus confess I was rather contented with the results.

I enjoy dance classes. Hip hop, Jazz, and all.

But they make me feel stupid too.

I kind of think it is an inferiority complex thing. Something that I can't seem to run away from.

Something that I thought I would have been able to overcome, but in actual fact no.

...

I must say I am still feeling a little lost right now.

Y says it is usual; we all go through phases like that.

But really, sometimes, I can't help feeling I wish I were someone else.

I wish I were C, who can commit all her time to herself and not worry about her parents because they are self-sufficient, and hence indulge in dance.

I wish I were L, who is the youngest in the family, who has everyone's support to carve out her own career in dance.

I wish I were D, who had started dancing at the age of 6, danced all the way from secondary school to university.

I wish I were anyone else but myself and I don't know why.

...

The fact is, I do enjoy the break from church.

I don't mean it to say that I don't like church. I do...it's just that I also enjoy the break to do my own things, to have a carefree Sunday like yesterday.

I woke up, went for Mass in the early morning, went for E's dance class, did my groceries, went home to clear up a bit, met R to meet the Father.

Then I had dinner, did my ironing and my laundry.

All in a day's work. And I do enjoy that.

...

Y says I need to heal myself. I think so too.

I need to stop wishing I were someone else.

I need to see beyond the surface of others and look into myself.

I need to appreciate my strengths and my personality and acknowledge myself.

I need to stop feeling I am stupid.

Because I am not.

I want to be an expert

I thought I should record this little milestone.

Well, it is not exactly the most appropriate date, but I think it is almost a safe estimation.

...

My resume so far has a record of 8-mth job stints.

As of today, I can say that I have almost broken that record. The end of the month will mark the 8th month (but you see, the reason why I say today is a safe estimation is because, even if I suddenly decide *touchwood!* to tender on Monday, I would have worked for 9 months already).

My previous prospective employers have harped on it hard.

Everyone has been quick to jump to the conclusion that I like job hopping. I can't take challenges. I need a constant fresh environment.

Whatever.

So well, when I decided to apply to this place (where I am now), I told myself I must hang on no matter what.

Even if it sucked.

Even if it bores the hell out of me.

Just because I need to break out of that job-hopper label.

...

That day, I woke up feeling that my world is without meaning and without hope.

It is a funny feeling to have, funnier when you wake up with it!

The last thing I remember was I had decided I will not join the performance company.

I really do want to join it, from the bottom of my heart....but not so much of the desire to shine on stage though, more so because it can help me improve.

I really want to be -better- in it. Better is the word.

The fact is, I am really sick of being a jack-of-all-trades and a master-of-none.

But of course, as R has pointed out, it is not like joining the performance company will make me a master. I am probably too inflexible too late.

And he says there are other things I should devote to, if I want to uphold my argument of becoming a "master", like languages, for example.

So in his opinion, my argument is flawed.

Oh well...probably.

...

Actually, it is all about the notion of opportunity.

My colleague E told me that I was worthy of bigger responsibilities. She felt I have the calibre to land some high-flying position like a CEO's right hand (wo)man or something. My colleague P said that I am extremely versatile and will have no problem landing a job after my contract ends.

The irony is, while I also do feel that I am capable, it clearly doesn't seem to be the case.

And I realize I am beginning to doubt my own capabilities.

I aim high....but all I get are lallangs. I don't get to park on big Primary forest trees.

I try to look far out but all I see is the small ridden track in front of me. I don't see any green pastures or the deep sea.

And it is tiring because everyone thinks I am just an happy-go-lucky being who doesn't care the least where I am going. Who doesn't care about finances. Who doesn't care about my future.

Who squanders my time off doing nothing constructive.

But that is not true.

I don't.

...

The truth is that--I don't know what I am looking for.

I don't have a specific destination in mind, like an occupation or the sort.

All I want, all I really want, is a vocation that can bring me an inner satisfaction. It is not about the job; it is the challenges of the position and the fulfillment.

And yes, that can be elusive.

Whatever. Maybe I am not sure myself.

But one thing I am very sure: I do want myself to become an expert.

In something.

In anything.

Something worth taking away

LeeAnn Womack has a song "Something worth leaving behind" which describes about one's legacy when one dies.

I like that song very much.

...

It is still some time away from my wedding but I have decided to start clearing up my rubbish and packing what I need.

That was what I did (tried to do) yesterday. Within the 2 hours of window I had.

My parents have been very generous to me. I am allocated a lot of space in the house. But because of that, I keep more things than I need.

Some of them are of sentimental value--like my secondary school notebooks.

Some of them are just memoirs of an age--like the diaries I used to keep.

There were also many textbooks. Mostly bought during my University days, all of which I couldn't bear to throw (give) away other than that thick, gross Molecular Biology of the Cell and the photostated textbooks on Immunology.

Clearly, you can probably appreciate why I didn't do so well in Biology.

...

But if I were to be bringing only certain things over to R's place, I must be selective.

I wasn't having my own apartment. I couldn't bring everything over.

All I was going to get--if I am lucky, and I do hope I will be lucky--is one section of the book shelf, one part of the cabinet, and some space for my many storage boxes.

I can't be more thankful.

So as I was ploughing through the many things, I was thinking very hard about what I would be bringing over.

And I was reminded of the song.

Sure, I wasn't at a point of deciding what kind of legacy to leave behind but I needed to decide what I would take away with me.

My present house is a storage space literally. I keep my clothes, my food, my books...everything I need inside.

But when I can't take the house with me, what would I choose to take away, and what would I choose to leave behind?

...

So far, I have packed away one box. In it contains two Neuroscience textbooks, and many diaries.

Frankly, as I type now, I am inclined to re-pack that box.

Diaries, yes. But Neuroscience textbooks? It is not like I will ever do it again. Anymore.

*thinks hard*

Yes. I think it is more worthwhile taking the Chinese Dictionary away instead.

The paths that don't cross ever

As I looked at the pictures, I realized that it is not true that one will look beautiful during the wedding day.

And I was just thinking to myself, I hope I will not be in such a plight. I do hope that I will be able to look pretty and beautiful on my wedding day.

...

A friend has got married. And I am sorry (ashamed) to say that I didn't think she looked pretty at all.

Is it the make-up? Is it the gown?

Is it her? That she wasn't pretty in the first place?

Or is it me? That I superimposed my perceptions onto her face?

Which is why I declined to leave any comments. I didn't want myself saying any hurtful things.

Well, to sort things out, I checked with my colleague.

She reaffirmed my stand: my friend didn't look pretty in her gown or in the pictures.

I don't know if it is even supposed to happen. Like I said earlier, a bride is supposed to look beautiful.

And so when people start saying things like,

"Oh! You are gorgeous!", "Wow! You look stunning!", "You are beautiful"

when it is not the case, what is more scary?

The person who said it? Or the thoughts that went into the person who said it?

...

At work yesterday, I had a little conflict with someone at work.

I needed to purchase some equipment, which cost about $100. And I had asked for her permission because she was THE person to ask.

But while she told me it would be possible for funding on the one hand, she had told my colleague to tell me to buy it myself.

HUH! BUY IT MYSELF!

I cannot imagine why I should buy it myself when it is the workplace that needs it.

But more importantly, I cannot understand why she must whisper to my colleague to tell me to buy it myself when she could have told me that herself.

And just when I had thought that this was a one-off, I found out that the disruption of my telephone line had something to do with her too.

My boss had said ok to keeping the line; she had told me that the department was unwilling to pay for my line (my boss is her superior).

And she had canceled my line.

And I am now without a telephone line.

...

I think I can accept the fact that there will always be such people around in our lives, and that it is just a matter of how much contact we will have.

But really,

if you are my friend,

then please do tell me if I don't look pretty on my wedding day.

Or even, if it brings you discomfort to mention about my face, then say it in a different but nonetheless fortright way.

Maybe say, "You look radiant" (That just means my face is pink and of course, I would most probably have my blusher on).

Or say, "You look different" (That just means I am different!)

Or just say "Congratulations!"

Yes, I will be a little disheartened that I hadn't looked beautiful, but I will appreciate that sincerity and honesty more than sheer flattery.

I want our paths to cross again.

And that can only be possible if we have complete trust in each other.

Fine! Next please!

Quite a while ago, I had contemplated continuing Japanese with my current teacher.

My classmates didn't like him one bit. They say he talked too much, that is bad enough. But the worst thing is, the things he had said aren't the least beneficial to us.

In other words, he talked too much rubbish in class.

I had differed in my opinion.

You see, when I started Japanese, I was always nervous. I freaked up when I needed to go for class, because I hadn't understood a single thing. (That was another teacher. She is supposed to be quite good.)

But you see--a teacher-student's relationship needs some amount of chemistry.

This teacher, albeit talking too much, had made me comfortable in a certain way.

I think it is because he makes a lot of stupid comments--which made the exceptional students feel that he is wasting their time, but had made me feel comfortable instead.

Anyway, that was how I had thought a while back.

...

I have been learning Japanese for a year now.

Right now, I am in the last phase of the Intermediate level of the school.

I am still not fluent in the language. But I think a very very simple conversation is possible. I may stutter and pause due to a lack of vocabulary, and I will probably not understand exactly what is being said, but I can still fathom a bit.

And I am proud of my own progress.

So when my teacher tried so hard to convince me I shouldn't be taking JLPT 3, I wasn't the least impressed.

(We would need a recommendation from him to take the exam since we should be taking JLPT 4 but we are skipping a grade.)

To begin with, I wasn't taking it in the first place. It was the girl beside me who had wanted to try it. For me, I would be in Guangzhou doing my one-month Chinese literature/ economics/ politics class (I can try to take it in Guangzhou but it is going to be a big hassle trying to contact the university and the such).

He kept telling me how the deserving classmates have been scoring 80 and above for all their tests and hence are ready (and hence, since I hadn't ever scored 80, I am not...).

Perhaps, I should really feel incompetent, and to a certain extent, I do.

When I go for make-up class, I see people getting 98 marks or 95 marks for their test. In my own class, people get 99 marks.

I, on the contrary, get 73 marks. Sometimes, I scrap by, managing 60 plus marks.

In class, I don't understand the Japanese my teacher mutters. Or maybe he is not muttering. I thought he was.

So yes, maybe I should feel ashamed.

So maybe, it is not so much about other people being exceptional, just that I am unachieving.

Whatever it is, as a teacher, you have no right to dissuade me.

That goes against the motion of a teacher, does it not?

You may not support it because you feel that you don't want me to risk rejection and failure. Your job then is to tell me the test is hard and I will need to study doubly hard.

...

I was hesitating for a while whether I should even continue with Japanese.

I guess I should.

Even if next year I am still not good enough for JLPT.

You know. I know what I need to succeed in the language. Maybe because of my fetish with the brain and its behaviour--I know just what I need.

So I guess, perhaps a more worthwhile question is, will I be committed to better Japanese?

But anyway, I have decided to not continue with the school. Or the teacher.

I have to agree with my classmates this time: It is time to move on.

Lingering on ...freedom

I hadn't gone dancing in NQ for a long time. In fact, I hadn't met up with my Salsa friends for a long time.

I went down on Tue, and there was a crowd. Among us, already there was a turnout of 6 people. At the club, it was even more crowded. I was told that it was Beginners' Night.

Right.

...

I used to think Salsa was a very sleazy dance. I guess I just wasn't comfortable at the way some guys hold the girls.

But as of now, I have become quite 'ok' with it.

I think I can appreciate the music better, not to mention, enjoy dancing more.

If guys cuddle me, and they do it in a sleazy way, then I just try my best to keep a distance.

But I don't usually get that--Thankfully--probably because 1) I am not gorgeous-looking; 2) I always stick to T-shirts (which kills all sense of femininity).

And I don't usually think highly of Salsa guys. Maybe because I have heard of a few who were j***...

But on Tue, I thought this guy was absolutely mesmerizing.

He took my breath away. For a moment...

He kept giving me reassuring pats on my back. Literally. Momentarily, he will whisper...Relax, relax. One time, he even told me to not worry and just keep smiling.

Yeah, I am very nervous when I dance with strangers.

And the way he spins! So graceful. The way he moves...He even shines with shine.

Wah...plus that cologne of his, lady-killer ah.

Haha.

In fact, I told R (he came to pick me up) that if I had not met him, I would have wooed that guy!

Of course, I am exaggerating. I don't think I will really woo him. But the fact is, I do feel that guys who can dance well or play music well exhibit an irresistible appeal.

...

I kind of wonder if I will still get to go dancing after I am married.

I have seen many people 'deteriorate' following marriage. They don't go dancing anymore. They don't socialize anymore.

They transform...into a house-person.

Which, please do not get me wrong, is not a bad thing at all.

It is good to be spending your time with the person you love. I would want to do that too.

But I do want to do other things too.

I still want to be able to go dancing (never mind about meeting impressive guys who can twirl and spin with grace and charm).

I still want to learn foreign languages and travel around the world (It would be ideal if R comes with me but if he can, I will be more than happy to have him around).

I still want to learn how to do gymnastics.

I sill want to have my own life.

And I hope that will be the case.

Healing. Outpouring. Check: Normal.

The weekend has been quite amazing.

I went for LISS, in my mind procrastinating, not really keen. I was sick anyway—so that could be a convenient excuse had I chosen to use it.

But well, since I have already paid the money, I figured I should just go ahead.

Sometimes, things turn out quite different from the way we anticipate it.

…

My first session last Sat was a culture-shock.

That sums my sentiments holistically. I wasn’t the least comfortable in the room—people raising hands, muttering what seems to be gibberish, prayers being recited. Alamak, what is this?

But come the next week, as I made my way there alone (E was sick), I thought I should just proceed on with an open heart. After all, I have already paid the money!

So…I tried.

The truth is, I have heard quite a lot about healing and all, but I have never associated the two: That I will get to experience what I had heard where I was then.

…

L found out from me what I wanted to be healed from.

The pondering over wasn’t too difficult.

It has been very hard for me. I had felt the resentment in my heart.

So, it was very natural, and only natural, that I thought of that.

The healing-over left me sobbing.

But it also gave me a sense of lightness.

I remember thinking,"Weird".

…

The next day was the more intense day: the outpouring of the gifts.

As the speaker shared, I had to admit I identified with his sentiments: Give me everything but that.

Yes, I didn’t really want the gift of tongues.

Remember I mention the culture shock I had experienced when people start breaking up in the room speaking in what seemed to be gibberish. Amidst the darkness, it can be overwhelming.
Not to mention, what if I were the one speaking!

Plus, I had heard too often of people who pretended they could speak in tongues just so that they can show it off.

I didn’t need to show off anything. I didn’t want to be speaking gibberish. And so, I really don’t quite want it.

Although technically, I wasn’t in a position to choose what I would get…It is a gift. If you get it, you say thanks! If you don’t, then that is just not supposed to be yours.

Well…

I remember feeling totally surprised that the outpouring occurred so quickly.

One moment we were in a talk, the next moment it was the session.

Amidst feeling stunned, my palms remain outstretched, facing Heaven. Don’t ask me what I was doing—I guess I was just waiting for it to come down.

Yes, it can be very intimidating.

So imagine, I standing in the centre, surrounded by four people praying over me, hands outstretched towards me.

I started crying, unconsciously.

I started weeping…and sweating profusely…even though I was directly under the air-
conditioner vent.

I was just crying, unconsciously and can’t seem to stop.

And then I feel myself falling backwards. That moment, I caught myself.

That happened two more times. I feel myself being pushed back but I catch myself everytime.

All this time, somebody said in my ear to say words of praise. Something wanted to come out from my mouth—I couldn’t let myself articulate it. It didn’t sound comprehensible. I couldn’t make any sense of what I was going to utter.

I was quivering all this time as I fought over the instinct to speak.

Finally, someone walked over to me and told me to let go. And then someone else also reassured me that there would be someone to catch me should I fall.

And I just fell.

This, I think, is called being ‘slain’. What a word…

So I laid there, sobbing in total un-control.

I took a while to sit up and regain composure.

I realized, thankfully, I wasn’t the only one behaving that way.

It was also then I realized what I had heard was true. People just fall. Unaware. If they surrender.

Later on, my facilitator came over and asked me if she could pray with me. She said she had a strong prompting.

And the same thing happened. I sat there, sobbing, quivering, not wanting to muster what I couldn’t understand.

…

The gifts of the spirit. Outpoured to me free.

Such is the wonder of God.

Such is the power of God.

(Sorry if this entry is too ‘Christian’. I needed to blog it out!)

P/s: Praying in tongues is a way of communicating to God. When we run out of things to say, the Spirit takes over and helps us.

P/P/S: I checked with a more experienced friend and realized that whatever I was experiencing—my hairs standing, the quivering, the crying—was normal!