I remember once, a few years ago, I made a friend through my blog. I suppose what rubbish a 15 year old had to write was somehow intriguing enough to pique the interest of this character, but anyway, I remember he once said to me, “It’s so easy to tell what you’re feeling. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”
I said nothing, only raised an eyebrow. Because this almost-stranger was telling me that I wore my heart on my sleeve, when most of what he knew of me was from my blog. Hell, I think he’d only seen my physical allegedly heart-bearing sleeve like 5 times.
But my point is this. We all wear different faces. I act a whole lot differently from the way I portray myself on my blogs. And the way I portray myself on this blog is way different from that on Facebook, which differs from that of Twitter, and Tumblr, and Skype, and Whatsapp, and etc. Even in real life, I probably act a whole lot differently with different groups of people. I’m probably a lot crazier with my poly mates, more subdued with my sec sch mates, less ranty with my jc mates etc.
Which begs the question of “Who is the real me?”
Am I that bitchy, judgmental freak who makes snarky comments in my head (which often comes out of my mouth as well) when I’m out at media events? Am I an alcoholic who can’t say no to drinks even when the ceiling collides with the floor while my friends cheer me on with glee in the background? Am I the lepak, chill kinda person who has long conversations deep into the night with a Heineken in one hand and a cigarette in the other? Am I an introvert who makes up excuses to avoid meeting people just so I can stay home and spend the day crunching chips in bed?
I’ve done all of these things, and plenty more that stand at opposite ends of a multitude of personality trait spectrums. Extrovert vs introvert, friendly vs unfriendly, hardworking vs lazy, compassionate vs apathetic, insecure vs confident etc.
At times, I feel like I just need as many social media outlets as possible to express all these different sides of me. But I’ve come to realised, that all these weird, conflicting traits, they all come together to make up who I am.
And the result is just… confused. I am a mess of random personality traits, too vague to be defined. Like a mass of different jellies in varying colours and textures, mashed up in a pool of multi-coloured mush. And that’s me. A pool of multi-faceted, directionless jelly mush.
I often find myself at odds with what I’m supposed to do in life. I’m expected to get my degree, get a job, earn a stable pay each month, save some for the future, eventually get a flat, get married, have kids, and expect the same from them. But as puerile as this might sound, I feel this inexplicable resistance against the.. erm.. system.
While I used to think it was a clashing of life philosophies that brought me to this situation – y’know, that our parents’ generations firmly believe we owe the world a living – I now think the problem is simply a lack of a life philosophy completely.
If we’re looking at expectations, there’s some sort of a goal there. You live to work, to save, to give yourself and your future kids a comfortable, albeit mediocre, living – which is perfectly okay. Your life philosophy, is then something like working 70% of your life to enjoy that 30% of it. Then I suppose if you’re religious, you’re working your way into heaven. Which is fine, because you’re doing good for this world and that’s great.
But for me, I have no idea what my life philosophy is. I’m probably more agnostic than anything else. Like there might be a god and there might be heaven, but I’m not taking that chance man. I’m not gonna be murdering people but I’m not gonna go around preaching the lord’s good name, cos for all I know that could well be a good waste of my time LOL.
So what then? Do I believe in working 70% for 30% of fun, of which most of it goes to your future kids who will eventually hate you at some point or another? Erm, do I really need to answer that?
I find myself wondering a lot about what the fuck is the point of life. Because really, all I see is death. It’s comforting to think that life isn’t about the destination, but the journey. But what’s so great about this journey if you’re living it to work for a future that doesn’t even seem that great to me.
I wonder if I wasn’t such a directionless multi-faceted mush, would I have more certainty in life?
What is it I’m missing, that people can go through life so happily without wondering what it all means, or what it’s all for? Is there some Meaning Of Life guidebook that got lost in the post?
If I knew what I was here for and what I want to do. I’d probably have it a lot easier. If someone told me GO GET A REAL JOB AND START PLANNING FOR YOUR FUTURE, I could just counter them and be all like NO I GOT A PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE AND ITS BETTER THAN YOURS. and start some amazing existential debate that would have old people drawing up chairs and betting on winners.
Instead, all I have to say is “meh?”