Life

I'm here chanting on a sad Pariita on a blog. On the other tab, I was also reading about the study that correlates sadness with creativity, stating like people like Van Gogh and Aristotle created one of the best innovations in all mankind.
What I want to say is, I don't know, just sad, and hopefully this writing of mine with enormous grammar errors and contents made in frivolity, I was sad. Am sad.
The only thing that is keeping me alive and now for at least one year to come is hope, and my dream of becoming an architect. Though my own conviction towards it is running lower and lower as I grow older and older, while losing trust from more and more people, even my parents and families. I mean, what is there to live for. Wanting to make this world a better place is seeming so absurd nowadays. There are tons of great people out there, I believe is and have been doing that job for centuries. Looking at me here, disrupting peace, breaking hearts, stealing, and ripping apart my family. I sometimes wish I was never born Why should I have? I bet my parents would have been much happier without me seeping money out of them and showing me making fool out of myself.
I clearly don't belong in my family, and so far as I traveled and viewed the world further than my hometown, I knew I don't belong in all of Asia. As I traveled through countries, meeting new people, but the way I behaved around them was so alienated; now I doubt I even belong in this world.
The only thing that's keeping me alive is, really, this inner character I made, serving as a brother with advises. It is indeed funny, but is it funny.
I was born alone, and was meant to die alone, but unlike most normal people, I would have lived this life alone too, if not for myself.
I don't know why they bother. I am hopeless. I am naive and helpless, but hopeless. I'm stubborn; I know nothing, and I am nobody. "Grow Up!" is the only advice I received, but I never know how, or why.
Why am I born.
But knowing myself, I wouldn't have been despaired knowing it was the rudiment of nature I was assigned to that I had little or no chance to alter at all. What does it mean. It was not me. It was the world. I have seen more than them. I don't deserve all these rejections, especially when I have tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn't really matter. If life was a game, this must be the schizophrenic level, with the easiest one allows me to change my family, nationality, race, and place of origin. Now, I can only change but one thing, my boy Fish.
For now this's been my resolute solitude salute flute.

a Boy and his Parents

I longed for a family. A perfect one. Never found one. Never had it in the first place.

If only life is much smoother, it would be much less bitter to go through.

I can't express myself. I couldn't talk. I can never be free from this bubble, which only myself knew and could be in it; nobody else could.

I saw families created through love and not the kind that lasts for 5 years, but thousands eternity.

I saw families embracing the troubles of the children, and, though not totally, trying their very best to listen to the wound of their child's hearts scythed deep by the hazards of the outside world.

I saw no matter how troubled and restrained, if so, a child in his nest, and crave to be let fly away like a grown hawk, the last thing a mother would do is to evade her grief of losing a child than to understand the child's need to taste life, albeit dangerous. For a parent who loves, there's no danger in seeing the world itself when they're fully in it to watch over the journey of the child, than to make a ground rule or requirements or packs for his freedom as prized.

Parents' love is eternal. They love into the core of their souls. They love enough to lose him forever than to take away his happiness away from him. They love, or, should love their son more than they do their lives, thus the only reason they're not working is to be able to see the family together.

Having a mother who prefers to argue than to listen is just as bad as having a father who loves spending weekdays in the office with friends, and Family's Sunday afternoon doing exercise with friends, in which case this boy has both. His mother once said, in one of their arguments, "You were treating us your parents like your friends." She couldn't be much more wrong. The boy had very good and understanding friends, whom he could talk to regarding anything and without having to end up as arguments, like he did with her, like when she denied ever saying that he was treating them (my parents) like friends.

They do not talk to solve problems. Their best mediator is time. The longer it's, the less vivid an argument became, which was so faded that they did not realize it ever happened, and would not hesitate to bring it up again anytime, anywhere. A cycle that is inevitable and perpetual.

He always thought it was him who's the problem. that he was bad at communicating, or arguing. It transpired that everyone just thought that he was the problem, and that is the real problem. They would not let him talk to defend myself, let alone to bring up the bad things they ever did, would they?

He never asked to be born. They made the choice to give birth to the boy. He was hoping to be born as a fish in the ocean, or simply a painting on the wall of a museum. He didn't know how it worked. He doesn't understand whom he should trust, if the people giving him life are the ones pulling him down, giving him the promise of .family's warmth he never received.

Happy New Year 2017

Happy New Yer! Quite late, and with one pronunciation error, so far. I wished too much on last yer's New Year Resolution. This year, I want snow in the place I am living in. Other than that, please find me that one piece of my heart that was once lost during childbirth, or puberty, I don't know, but I need t be in love, sooner or later. The former will be great. With that said, I will now proclaim my 2017's Resolution. First of all, for this year, I want to stop making nonsensical or garrulous posts online that contain barely any meaningful messages.
I am planning to make this world a world with me in it. Meaning? Nothing at all. I love badminton, do you? I have many talents; in fact, too many that I lost count of the number of hours I have spent for each of every of them. The real question, however, is why I keep many hobbies, and what do I do with them. Answer is simple, I like to, and enjoy them. Simple answers, aren't them?
Anyway, the real question is, what the deuce are all these systematical rows and columns of words which are disintegrated to each other, spread in meanings or relevance like common electric charges?
What, is love anyway? And why, is there a need to stow a comma between the interrogative words and the question? First, we answer the first question. Then, second, we answer the second question. Thirdly, thoroughly fury dirtily darling duckling dancing drenching drum-star.
Talking about love; love, personal affection ("I love maternal") pleasure ("I meal the love was") to a variety of feelings, from the state, is a lot of attitude.It can refer to a feeling Strong temptation and personal attachment. [1] It is also, human goodness, is also a virtue to express compassion, love. "Voluntary and unwilling concern for the benefit of others." [2] It is also, other human beings, take care of themselves and their animals, you could describe the loving action. [3]
Non-Western traditions also features a distortion or coexistence of these conditions. Sutorijji, Philia, Eros, words such as Agape represents a unique "concept" of love. Love, especially in the religion of Abraham, you still have religious or spiritual significance. The use of the average and complexity of diversity are combined, compared to other emotional states, love will always be difficult to define in a coherent way.
The love of its various forms, plays a major facilitator of interpersonal relationships, due to its central psychological importance, is one of the most common themes in the creative arts. [5]
Love, combined with the humanity of the threat, can be understood as a function to facilitate the pursuit of the species. [6]

The above statements are made by Google Translate mechanism, through English to Japanese and French back to English.
Hope we now understand the love that travels through countries and has been meandering its way to find the one genuine priceless colossal ancient rounded red heavenly diamond beautifying piece of cor everyone once had in their momma's womb. Before their lives even began.

My first Christmas

I love Christmas if not for my balls. They busted, they exploded. I pumped them too hard with too high air pressure inside, sealed it tight, and fill it with mercury. Heavy as alloys, loud as exploud.

Christmas Wishes

Today with Vincent yes. Fun yes. Interesting life.

Five Days of Shame... or Fame?

Being different can be because of a possession or a lost, or at least that is what depends on the work of the mind.
I am talking about my hair. If I did not perform this task now, after I graduate, have my real jobs, acquire real networks, submerged in real business connections, there will not be another chance.
It is, anyway, no a lost at all. Here is the least of what I got, little or big:

- Roommates: have things to talk about prior to meeting
- Classmates: frequency of conversations increased
- Concerns (Offer for hair to be trimmed, properly): one by roommate, two by classmates, one lended ￥15,000 in anxiety of me not sufficing to feed myself
- From work: Got everyone's attention. Befriended, have more things to talk about, learn new things about coworkers, which did not happen during the first month of the start of work (not a mere conversation since then).
- Be more friendly with the restaurant manager, who helped me with my haircut.

See? Differences are not necessarily bad. In fact they are not bad at all. People judge, people talk, people laugh, but the one who makes the decision to laugh along and make more friendship opportunity is you, and the one who chooses to be depressed and shy away from the outside world before eventually rotting to death, is, you, too.

My First Japanese Haircut

It has been a long time since the first universe ended. The first Miss Universe Contest.
Living in Japan has been an experience like nothing else. It has really been a wonderful journey. I would say the best, but tomorrow might turn out better, thus today will be the runner up tomorrow, yet the day after tomorrow is yet to arrive, so the practice of judging which day in Japan is the best is an utter act of unfairness.
I had not trimmed my hair since I arrive in Japan. One day I got a job. One of the days in the job life I felt that the hat covering my blooming hair did suffocate the rim of the roots of my hair, thus causing an immense headache everytime my right foot left the left entrance of the shop. One day I grabbed a pair of scissors. That day I harvested a garden of keratin wool. Dark Brown. Great Success. I looked into the mirror to greet a stranger. Never did I realize how I never realized that my hair looked artistic in the rear part. How so? Every time I took a stroll in the city to school (12km appx 49 mins), my head got the sheer attention it had never gotten before. At school, in class, classmates from all over the world in Asia praised my skill in haircut, before bursting into laughters together. First, I was very happy my new head shape can bring so much joy to others. Second, I was so flattered indeed by their praises. Those two three days of school, each day with a different teacher, whom had seen my head since the first day of school, were all (2 out of 3) surprised. The first one asked to check my welfare in high pitch and widest gaze. At work that day, my half bald egg head got attention from the kitchen staffs who were half boiling eggs. Especially the Tencho (shop manager), who was reasonably very friendly. Friendlier than an older brother. An older brother I am having now. This kind of kindness led me to believe that every work or job is fun with a friendly leader and caring teammates. I never knew anything else besides those facts, since this was my first arbeit (German for part time job).
Short story cut untidily, the manager offered to properly trim my residue the next day.
And so it got cut.
People laugh. People tease. People judge. I stay the way I am with my inner self. Either that or I join in the laughters and discussion together. Some ducks are born in eggs. Some sharks are born inside the stomach of their mother. However we are just people. We are slaves of oxygen. Humans produce carbon dioxide and water vapour for the growth and combustion of plantations. Plants then photosynthesis to produce enough oxygen in the air for our daily survival. For incentives, some even provide fruits as tokens of hardwork in the concentration camp we call earth. Fish are laughing at us right now.
Where was I? At home in your bed? No I mean in the story relating to the post I am gonna make today called My First Japanese Haircut. Where was I? Oh that... you were taling about your !anager who cut your hair for you. Oh that.... yup he cut my hair for me. Great Success!