The Deep Profound Shit Series: On Reaching Out

Frankly, reaching out to others scares me. It’s like thrusting your arm into a door leading to a dark room with creepy noises, waiting for something to grab onto you. Doing that alone takes a lot of courage. Pulling your arm in to see what grabbed on is another thing. Deciding if you’d keep the one that latched on is yet another matter.

Extending that idea, we’re all in dark rooms either waiting for a strange arm to go in through the door, deciding if we’d grab onto the arm that poked in and deciding if we’ll hold onto it when we see what we grabbed onto; or thrusting our own arm into the void outside the door, waiting for someone to grab onto us and when that someone pulls us in, deciding if we’d hold on to the one that grabbed us.

In the end, it all boils down to our decision whether we’d reach out or not. After all has been said and done, this is one of the hardest decision we have to make on a day-to-day basis. From the officemate that piques your interest to the online contact that you feel is in need of someone to talk to to the cute girl at Starbucks that has been swapping glances with you, you have to decide whether to reach out or not. And trust me, for someone acutely aware of how it is to be lonely, to be left alone, to be ignored because you’re ‘weird’, it can be an agony.

I know others go through this. I wonder how they cope with it.

The Deep Profound Shit Series: That mandatory Christmas post.

Fine, the pile of draft entries is not getting any smaller and is starting to moulder but here I am writing another entry. Being half in the bag is another argument not to write, considering I do my best to be an OC bitch when it comes to grammar and stuff but what the hell. Considering my gift for myself this year, this post will serve as an affirmation of that.

Ok, what’s your Christmas gift to yourself? Gear? Toys? Make-up? Something tangible, material or what? I’ve no money, so scratch the gear part. I’m not really into toys nowadays; not even the grown-up version called collectibles so scratch that too. Make-up we can obviously skip. 

Mine was the gift of my self.

WTF I know. But consider - how many of you have your self with you now? With the hustle and bustle of this materialistic, gotta-have-that world do you have time for your self? Take note, not ‘yourself’. Your self. The you that you know, that you really are. Not the you that the world sees or knows. Not your body, your self. Your officemates may know you as a party animal that boinks every skirt that passes your radar in all the parties you’ve been dragged into (in the name of solidarity and camaraderie no less) but in reality you’re a person who’d rather listen to Bach and George Winston’s ‘Theme to Grace/Lament’, sit back and read a book during your down time. You’re a foul-mouthed, hooch-swinging, brash, rough person in the eyes of your clique but in reality you’re a homebody who’d rather just stay home and clean the room up. To the bosses you’re a machine who lives, breaths and eats work 24/7; in reality you want to go climb the nearest mountain whenever you can, stare at the sunrise/set and wonder over existentialist lines. You get the picture yes? You may not even be happy with the you that the whole world sees yet you’re forced to be that because people won’t like you otherwise. It’s a lose-lose situation.

Fine, this concept of your self as a gift is so selfish. But honestly - how can you give to others if you don’t tend to yourself first? There is no such thing as true altruism. Altruistic people are altruistic because they get an ego fuck every time people appreciate them. But that kind of ego fucking is like hitting on drugs - a certain dosage can only go so far and you’ll start asking for more. And when there is no more, you will implode. Same with love. Same with friendships.

So. Do yourself and the world a favor this year. Find your self and hopefully, be a better person because of that. Or at the least, you’d be truly happy.

Merry Christmas.