Incredibly hard, but I accepted it.

Saturday evening, October 8th, I went to Rockaway 2011, admittedly to catch All Time Low perform, after years of hoping they would come to Malaysia. The moment I heard they were coming, I jumped on it – I bought tickets, made a fan poster, went, and waited for them to come on. During the wait however, they showed up amongst the audience for a meet-and-greet session. I saw them, screamed, and ran away.

I’d heard every one of their songs and watched loads of fan videos on YouTube; I felt like I knew them. But when I saw Alex the lead singer in the flesh, knowing that I was just another fan girl to him – that if he even did see me, it was only for the first time in his life – wasn’t something I could fully grasp. Difficult as it is to admit, I was star-struck.

Jack plays guitar for All Time Low

Today, I was tweet-browsing, and saw a tweet from Rahul, one of the organisers of Rockaway:

@rahulOBS: @postagig they swore perfusely on stage. Police told em to stop. They told m’sian police2fuck off &they kept swearin on stage.

That caught my attention instantly. I supposed he was talking about the show that night, and I knew All Time Low were famous for “swearing profusely onstage”. I scrolled down and saw an earlier tweet:

@rahulOBS: When artists perform in Malaysia, you have to RESPECT the laws of our country. When u don’t, you disrespect US.

I went over to his profile, read his recent tweets, most of which were on the same issue, and the recent tweets from other users directed to him, also relating to the then current topic, and discovered an entire controversy regarding the band’s misbehaviour at the show on Saturday. My supposition was confirmed, and my immediate response was of indignation. I tweeted Rahul:

@rahulOBS if I remember correctly 1 of our local bands swore on stage too earlier on :/ I was surprised, but thought somehow it was allowed.

And I did remember correctly. Rahul tweeted back:

@SherylGSh none of the local bands told our police to fuck off. And told me, malaysia sucks and we are idiots. Only @AllTimeLow

Even then, I refused to believe their action was wrong. I felt an overwhelming sense of defence, and my immediate thoughts were “Oh, so what?” and on one of Rahul’s other tweets:

@rahulOBS: All Time Low memang All Time Low. Bunch of rich spoilt brats. Manager just called again to apologise. Too late guys, too late. Damage done.

I instantly thought, “Well, rich spoilt brats is a whole other thing. We all know it takes hard work to get where they are.”

I also saw:

@izzahzie: to them girls that did the toilet seat for #Alltimelow , sorry to say. they left it on the floor. no, not in their room :)

and it took a bit of a struggle, but I still thought, “A toilet seat? Hey, that’s totally impractical. What were they supposed to do with it anyway?”

I just wanted so badly to defend them, and – I realised this later – it was not as much for anyone else as it was for myself.

I really loved these guys – I idolised them. I do enjoy their music, but what I’ve always loved most about the band was that they always seemed to be having so much fun. They’d always seemed like amazing, easy-going, nice, funny guys. To be able to meet them as an equal and not as a screaming fan, and to live lives like the ones they seemed to live, were the only reasons I could have for ever wanting to be famous. That night, I watched them play, screamed, cheered, and sang along to all their songs. I went home more motivated than I’d ever been. I wanted more than ever to chase that dream. The last thing I wanted to know was that they were “rich spoilt brats”.

I didn’t bother retaliating – I was too busy trying to convince myself that All Time Low weren’t what they were accused of being. I opened YouTube and revisited my favourite videos of them hanging out, backstage, or in their own private spaces. I also watched clips of some of their live shows and some interviews that had never before failed to inspire me in music and in life.

But this time, I was nothing but dispirited. I couldn’t look at Alex the same way I did just a couple of days ago. I could see nothing more than haughtiness and insensitivity.

I was pissed. Utterly upset. At Alex. At All Time Low. At the participants in the dispute. At Rahul. At Twitter. At myself.

Why did they have to be so rude? Why did they have to cause so much trouble? Why did everyone have to make such a big fuss about it? Why does everything have to be so public and accessible these days? Why couldn’t I have just stayed in my fucking happy bubble and just continued being oblivious to All Time Low’s insolence? Why had I been so bloody oblivious?

It was depressing. It really was. It was also humiliating. I’d just found out I was on the losing side, and that’s never good news. It was an insult to my judgment. But most of all, it was disillusioning. They were my idols, damn it. It was as if God showed up and said, “Haha, I’m actually Satan”. You may say I’m exaggerating, but that’s really what it felt like then.

Depressing, humiliating and disillusioning as it all was, I managed to accept it. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s done, and I’m proud of myself. I think it takes strength to believe that God is really Satan, and to admit I was wrong about something I stood faithfully by for years.

It’s been a battle, but I’ve managed to put things in perspective. My eyes have been pried open. The lids are still a little sore, but the pain won’t linger. In fact, I’m constantly feeling a slight uplift in spirit.

I guess sometimes it’s good to know that your idols are not perfect, too. It’s too easy to be blinded by admiration and reverence. It’s funny how learning one thing changes everything.

I will continue to admire the qualities of theirs that I’ve always adored, but I don’t think they will be the driving force towards fame anymore. Maybe now it will be wanting to be a better role model for others that will be that force.

Thank you anyway All Time Low for finally coming to Malaysia, and the team at Rockaway 2011 for bringing them over. It was fun nonetheless!

You’re probably not gonna see this. Well, I sure hope you don’t.

Just a few days ago, I was sitting alone at a McDonald’s, surrounded by many strangers, all of whom had company, many of whom seemed to know people they didn’t arrive with. I arrived alone, on purpose, and didn’t bump into anyone I knew or thought looked familiar. I didn’t know anybody, but everybody knew everybody. I was alone in a crowd.

Well, there was one other person who seemed to be there alone, although he did seem as if he was waiting for somebody, who essentially did not show up. He was sitting about two tables away from me, leaned back, sipping on a drink, and his line of sight never left the screen of his phone. He wasn’t seated for any more than 20 minutes, after which he got up and walked out of my life.

The point isn’t what he had been doing in the seemingly insignificant 20 minutes of my life. The point is this: I had paid full attention to what he was doing in every one of those 20 minutes, and probably only because following him could potentially have led to undesirable circumstances.

The reason for why I was so interested in his trivial activities was simply that he reminded me so much of you. I couldn’t quite see his face, but from where I was, he looked every bit like your 15 year old self. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was attractive! From the back!

I’m not one to typically stare at attractive people; I think I practise quite a bit of self-control. Or at least I know how and when not to embarrass myself (Those of you who beg to differ, may I remind you that ‘embarrassing myself’ is subject to what embarrasses me). What really kept me looking at him was not his attractiveness, but of course, his resemblance to you – the boy I hardly ever think about anymore, and when I do, is but a distant memory.

When I saw him however, it was as if it was you who was sitting right there, and vivid playbacks of those distant memories flashed before me. I imagined sitting in the school canteen, watching ignorant you walk past me. The way you walked was signature. Arrogant and self-righteous. Even now, I believe I can spot a masked you from miles away, as long as you walked.

So I reminisced about that swagger, and all the other characteristics you had that once gave my tummy somersaults and butterflies without fail. And I smiled. I was sitting alone at a table, eyes fixated on nothingness, and seemingly without reason, I smiled. People looked, for I really was smiling to myself, but it wasn’t something I could help.

I thought about your overall physique – your unfit build, your tan baby-smooth skin, your fleshy round face, your annoying, constantly-gelled hair, your conspicuously charming smile, your self-proclaimed naturally straight white teeth, your wide crooked nose, your fashionable eyes, your fashionable eyelashes, your buff but weak arms, your edgy long fingers, your unusually large fingernails, your- I could go on forever, but let’s stop before I get into the more private details.

I also thought about your personality that swept me off my feet again and again for years – how sociable and personable you were that it sometimes humbled me. Also, I remembered how flinchingly sweet your words were, although of course back then my doubts and insecurities continuously welcomed them (and sometimes fed on them).

You were the ideal boyfriend from the surface. Superficially perfect. I couldn’t find a single flaw or mistake, but half of the reason was that I was blinded by the novelty of a first love. I saw what I wanted to see. You would walk in and out on me, but I never once told you no when you kept coming back after months of leaving me torn and broken. I convinced myself you had well-meant reasons to leave me. And to come back. I constantly made excuses for you, even when you were gone.

The other half of the reason was having built my list of ideals for a boyfriend based solely on your characteristics. You were only perfect because I allowed you to define perfection. Looking back now, I may still like the look of you, but the butterflies don’t flutter like they used to anymore. From where I stand now, you may still meet standards, but you’re way below many.

We lived very different lifestyles. Though we were in the same school, you were a year ahead of me, and we never shared after-school activities. The only time we spent together was during the weekends – lunch and a movie along with some other friends. The you in my life was expressed mostly through MSN, phone calls and text messages. The regular “What are you doing baby?” every half hour or so.

I don’t know what I loved about you. It wasn’t as if we’d been through a lot, or done a lot together. Yet I would constantly think of you, every free moment I had, every day without fail. I suppose back then there just wasn’t much else in life to occupy my thoughts with. I was the clingy girlfriend, hanging on to you like I would to dear life, and all you wanted was to be free. You had a social life going on for you, which I couldn’t share, and which I couldn’t stand seeing you live, without me.

So I thought about how you were never right for me, how I was never right for you, and how long it took for me to come to that realisation, its understanding, and eventually, its acceptance.

All these thoughts came and went in a matter of minutes. As quickly as they were vivid. It certainly didn’t bother me emotionally. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air. A brief reprieve from the present. Reminiscing was always a form of getaway for me, and if there was anyone worth reminiscing about, it was you. Our time together might not have been the best, or even one of the better times of my life, but it’s incredible how much I’d learned from it. I would not be who I am today if it hadn’t been for you, and I must say, I quite like who I am today.

I went home that day with those thoughts of you tucked neatly back into a secluded area of my mind. I put my books and bag down, turned on the computer, and did the usual – sign in to Facebook, Twitter, YouTube. I guess those thoughts weren’t tucked in quite neatly enough though, because I suddenly decided to open your profile page on Facebook.

Which I did. And the first thing I saw was the profile picture – a self-taken shot of you and your girlfriend.

I smiled. A genuinely happy smile. I couldn’t help but think to myself how good you looked together, which is something I never before found myself saying about us. I scanned the rest of your pictures, more than half of which had her in them. They were beautiful, every photo, and I was so proud of myself for being truly happy for you.

Seeing snapshots of your life way after me puts a smile on my face. It feels good seeing you possess something I could never have given you. But I’m also envious; why you and not me? You’ve found happiness that seems never-ending, and here my life is a rollercoaster. For a long time, I’ve stopped needing to be in yours. But I wouldn’t mind swapping.

Sometimes I wonder if you think of me, and how much you, or I might, have grown since. Or at least how pathetic what we had was. How pathetic I was, pining for you, convinced I could never find a better love. Or is it just me who occasionally allows memories of the past to devour precious time that I could otherwise spend productively? I suppose it’s more likely to be just me, because it seems you’ve found what you’ve been looking for… and I haven’t.

Well, good luck! With your relationship, with your future, with life. I will continue envying the two of you, but it also gives me hope, seeing that it is indeed possible to be with the right person for you in the end. There is a right person for me too. I just have to look for him.

Because I just haven’t met him yet.

:)

Today, if I were to count the number of tears I’ve shed in the past couple of months, the math could be done with a single hand. I may be unappreciative of some things, but I am with no doubt grateful to have what, and who, I have beside and around me, wherever I go, and at anytime of day.

But.
There’s always a but.

No matter how thankful I am for where I am today, there are some things missing, always; some things that I once had but lost not long after; some things I want back and never lost again.

If only friends were made by the snap of a finger, or a blink of an eye. Well, I suppose the best things in life don’t come easy.

All that’s left for me to say is,
I had never had such an amazing group of friends, one that I can be around without bearing any stress or doubt in mind. Though we still talk, laugh, and share personal information, that’s all done individually now, and I’m afraid some things have been long lost and it won’t be easy finding them and bringing them back.

I have done things I regretted, but later realised that what’s done is done and those are scarring words I can never take back. Misfortune, misunderstanding, unwanted reappearances, scattered sequences of events that lead to mishap – these are occurences that cannot be avoided.

Fate is often a depressing main road, because we tend to focus on the lemons thrown at us, and not on the lemonade we get to make out of them.

Well, I’m still learning how to make this so called lemonade. I may be in acceptance, but a part of me still wishes I can go back in time and replay my dearest memories.

I miss those days, and well, what can I say – If only (:

Love, Sheryl.

P/s: FyZ.

Haven’t been posting lately. I guess lately there hasn’t been anyone I wanted reading my blog :D

Really. I won’t even try to hide it. I admit that I blog for somebody. I want someone to read my posts. Either someone in particular, a group of people, or everyone. Well, it always changes, depending on, I suppose whoever my infatuation is at the moment? Or if I’m pissed at someone but am too afraid to confront him slash her. Whoever it is, I don’t blog for no reason. I mean, why else would anyone keep a blog? If you wanted to rant, you’d keep a diary.

Well, unless the blog is private. That’s prolly cos somebody wanted to keep a diary but preferred typing to handwriting. OR, he slash she wanted people to know he slash she has a blog, but not publish it, so people would get curious. And well, that indirectly attracts attention. Aha! I see right through you people ;)

Or, fine, maybe he slash she didn’t want parents or teachers reading his slash her blog. And that just means the blog would not have been private if it wasn’t for unwanted readers. So that’s not counted (:

So, analysing my theories above,
bloggers are attention seekers.

And would you look at that: the nerve I have to make that statement IN MY BLOG (I wanted to italicise that but I’m blogging from my phone and I can’t do that so I had to capitalise instead).

So that explains why I haven’t been blogging I guess. Cos it would only make sense that the only person I would want reading my blog right now is someone I can text at any time I like, for any reason whatsoever, or none :D

So why am I blogging now, you ask.

Frankly,
I have no idea.
I guess my theories are, simply,
Inapplicable (:

Now at the very top of my To Buy list:

THIS IS HOT O:

I mean the jeans, bytheway.

Just had to post that. Goodnight (:

I may not be the girl I want myself to be.

I may not be her.

I may not be perfect.

I may not be ideal.

But you know what?

Being ideal doesn’t mean being happy.

If anything, I’m overrated. I’m expected to be so much more than I can be. I know, I shouldn’t be living for others. But here’s the catch. I expect myself to be more than I can be.

Self-esteem, they say. Confidence. There’s nothing wrong with aiming high. But sometimes, that’s not all it is. Cause where there are expectations, there is space for disappointment. You get disappointed when something doesn’t go as expected. So when I expect more of myself than what I’m capable of, things tend to go wrong. I get disappointed. I get hurt. And then I ask myself, “Why does life treat me so badly? Why me?”. Then I curl up in bed and cry my eyes out.

Sound familiar?

Maybe you respond the same way I do to disasters. Maybe you too ask the same question. Maybe you too have once upon a time found a comfortable spot somewhere under those sheets. Maybe you too have cried gallons of tears, maybe you too have gotten your heart broken a million and two times.

It seems like human nature, doesn’t it? Seems impossible that there’s one girl on Earth who’s never gone through that phase once in her lifetime. In fact, there might be some who spend their entire lives not ever growing out of it. Some who lie on their death bed blaming God for their miserable lives.

Cause when something goes wrong, it’s only natural that we blame it on someone else. We blame it on our parents. We blame it on our teachers. We blame it on our friends, our brothers, our sisters, our grandmothers. We blame it on God. It’s always the same question: “Why does life treat me so badly? Why me?”. “Why?”. But here’s something you don’t often wonder: “Why do I treat myself so badly?”.

Think about it. Has that ever crossed your mind? Have you ever once stopped to think, that maybe it’s not your parents’ fault. It’s not your teachers’, bothers’, sisters’, grandmothers’ faults. It’s not God’s fault. Maybe all this while, you could’ve been happy. Maybe you could’ve cured yourself from the misery. Maybe it’s your fault.

Well, I guess no one really wants to think that it’s his/her fault. No one wants to be wrong. No one wants to think that everyone else is right.

Life’s short; we should make the best of it. And have fun while we’re at it. It pays to focus on the blessings instead of the misfortunes. What we have rather than what we don’t. I’m surrounded by people who care. Why should I mope over those who don’t?

Here I am being sorry for myself, because I’m stuck with what I have; because nothing good ever comes round. But here’s what, Sheryl – opportunity is for the well-prepared. And preparation does not include monologues of “It isn’t fair”, or “Why me?”. It’s about taking disasters and turning them into life lessons. Making the most out of the worst.

And when you think no one’s there to listen, open your eyes and look around. You’ll find that the reason why no one listens, is that you don’t give them the chance to. You want a certain someone to care, so you turn a blind eye to others who try. But look closely, and no matter how lonely you feel, you’ll see that you’re not alone :)

And because I’m here in this moment, I’ve got a few acknowledgments to make:

1. I heart my fellow yellow cheerleaders :) and yellow house, duhh.

2. Grandma, I hope you’ll get better, even if takes a miracle.

3. I love you daddy! More than anything in the whole wide world <3

4. Andrew Matthews, thank you for writing the book. I’m not even done with Chapter 1, and my life’s already starting to change.

5. Su Yin, I miss you likee.. sooo much. Love you, babe.

6. World, I’m coming :)

And on a totally unrelated note…

7. Mahathir; Helloo :D

The real deal; Shuey :)

Naturally 7 is an American music group with a distinct a cappella style they call “Vocal Play”. They sing primarily R&B with extensive beat-boxing. Band members are Garfield Buckley, Rod Eldridge, Warren Thomas, Jamal Reed, Roger “N’glish” Thomas, Dwight Stewart, and Armand “Hops” Hutton. Their style is strongly reminiscent of Take 6.

Lastly, a shoutout to my greedy candy-taking friend, Mahathir. :D

chao hai ah D:

:)