mercredi, novembre 14, 2007
This is my last post here.
Truth is, we all have issues. I've got tons of them – unrequited love, problems with my family members, my grades should be better, debate matters, insecurity issues especially to do with my appearance and lots more. I remember Kenneth once wondering out loud in one of those random moments of his if there was anyone who was so hideous, they dread looking in the mirror every day and could you imagine how horrible that must be. And more importantly, I remember thinking, that’s kinda me. I hate that I’m so fat, and I hate that I’m so ugly. I don’t want any pity or anything; I just want to face up to facts. I’m hideous, and I know it.
So what we do with the pain that these problems cause is quite simply numb it. We all want to be happy, or at least appear to be happy. After all, happiness is really what makes life worthwhile, isn’t it? It’s the whole point of being alive. If you’re not happy or have reason to be, why live? So, in the hopes of forgetting our sorrows, we watch happy movies, read happy novels, eat happy chocolate or popcorn or whatever. The more dramatic amongst us turn to drugs, alcohol, sex or smoking to achieve the same effect. Maybe that’s why I like Disney and chick flicks and chick lit and such so much. It’s Prozac for my soul. Anyway, after all these therapies have taken their toll, we put on a fake smile and a fake happy face and a fake happy voice to pretend we’re okay. We fake our way through the day with that happy mask, when inside, we’re fragile souls, crumbling with the slightest blow.
I’m one of those many people. I’m not who I make myself out to be. I wear a mask every day. Sometimes my act’s so good, I convince even myself. Of course, sometimes my happiness is genuine. It used to be more often than not, but these days, I’ve gotten jaded.
I've got some plot bunnies that're waiting to be written but the writer in my head just can't take the optimism of romance as a genre anymore (and conveniently, all those plots are for romances). The writer in my head isn't MandyAnne anymore.
The thing about MandyAnne is that she's an overly optimistic girl. She adores fluff, and smiles a lot, and gives her love away too easily. She's happy and skippy and doesn't see the bad in people. Even when she's down, she still puts daisies on her blog. I'm just not her. This whole blog- the templates (this one's pink and based on a song about princesses, for crying out loud), the god-awful first awkward posts, the history, the tagboard, and the URL especially- is me trying to force myself to be her. Thing is, it's gotten really tiring and I just don't want to do it anymore. I'm through faking it. So I'm closing this blog, moving permanently to nadyatan, who's a more accurate representation of who Mariam is now. 288 posts later, and this is what it comes down to. Out of those 288 posts, this is probably the most honest one. Too bad it's my last.
bagaikan PUTERI. (:
