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Looking back at 2014, I would love to kill myself, once, twice, thrice, whenever I do something silly. Perhaps courage is the way God compensates a fool, assuming that God is real. I joined pageant contest when I can't even stabilize myself in heels. I auditioned for theater when I don't know how to project my voice. I auditioned for musical when the only singing experience I have had came from singing in the bathroom and the car. I joined a novel writing course conducted by Malaysia's first female novelist even though I don't have a solid literature background.
And the list goes on and on.
Yes, I have been a fool and I hate myself for that. I am an embarrassment, a laughing stock.
But I tried. It doesn't say much, but it said something. If I die tomorrow, or the next second, people might remember me as the girl who sang very badly during the audition for Short + Sweet, or the girl who can't write well but still submit writing after writing at The Writer's Tower, or the pageant contestant who does not even know how to stand properly. I am of course not fond of such memories, but they are proof that I had lived.
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More importantly are the people I have met. Writers, be it established or aspiring. Photographers, thespians, models, cosplayers.
Their passion move me, sometimes so much that I want to cry, but somehow I can't. Maybe my mind's self defense mechanism is turning me into someone heartless.
The girl with a degree who now designs costumes for a living. The guy who writes Harry Potter fan fiction. The guy who gets offended when people mock his enthusiasm for gaming. The girl who bakes the most beautiful cakes. The guy who wanted to be a child actor and is now learning ballet. The guy who writes the most hilarious stories on The Writer's Tower. The girl who asks for donations of fruits for her artistic charity project. The guy who went to Singapore for his degree in acting. The girl who won't give up on studying law no matter how many times she has to fall. The girl who managed The Writer's Tower despite her stressful and tiring job. The ACCA student who dances and cheerleads.
So many more and I can't remember all. They are my inspiration when I fall, reminding me to keep standing tall when I am feeling small.
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I resolute not to make any new year resolution for 2015. Not because I can't hold on to it, even though that's probably true. But the main reason was because I haven't decide on what I want.
Two contrasting desires and I wonder how one achieve the balance between two extremism.
On one end I yearn to let it all go. Stop being so body-conscious. Stop caring about the tummy flab and all other imperfections. YOLO so be yourself, right? Eat that chips and drink that coke. Continue to be a fool. Laugh out loud and fart louder.
On the other end is the dream to excel. Be demure, you're a girl, act sophisticated. Read multi-layered literature that you are not interested in and ditch those Wei Si Li sci-fi. Exercise three time a week, tone up that body, make sure you are always ready for a bikini. You only live once so be the best that you can be.
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On my table there is an image of a Santa Claus in a sleigh pulled by dolphins instead of reindeer. It is not well drawn but it makes me smile.
The freedom of dreaming is at our discretion to exercise and right now, I am growing enormous white wings that are strong enough to carry me over the broken rainbow bridge that leads me to the starry castle of fantasy.
