Things Don't Always End The Way We Want

...but sometimes, the ending turns out to fit perfectly.

My favourite movies EVER in the entire world are Kill Bill vol 1 and vol 2.

I love everything about them. I love the crazy, bloody violence in volume 1. I love the toned-down, film noir feel of volume 2. I love how they both tell the same story, but in drastically different ways.

Lots of people complained about how the final showdown between The Bride and Bill was anticlimactic. It was indeed the shortest fight in both movies (there was a longer, more intense showdown planned, but was scratched due to budget/scheduling conflicts). But I don't mind, really. I think it ended the whole story perfectly. It added a brilliant touch of realism by reflecting a prominent truth in life; things don't always end the way we expect. We don't always get to say goodbye; we don't always get to resolve conflicts properly. And sometimes, even when we do get closure, it doesn't always happen the way we want.

So yes. In life, lots of things end rather anticlimactically.

I could go on and on and make a list of EVERYTHING I love about both movies... but that list would just go on forever, and I don't have forever... so I'll just end this post by quoting my favourite part from the final chapter: Face to Face.

---------------

Bill: And for the record; letting somebody think that somebody they love is dead - when they're not - is quite cruel! I mourned you for three months... and in the third month of mourning you, I tracked you down. I wasn't trying to track *you* down, I was trying to track down the fucking assholes that I thought had killed you. So I find you! And what do I find? Not only are you not dead; you're getting married to some fucking jerk... and you're pregnant! I... overreacted.

Beatrix: .... you 'overreacted'? Is that your explanation?

Bill: I didn't say I was going to explain myself; I said I was gonna tell you the truth. But if that's too cryptic; let's get literal... I'm a killer. I'm a murdering bastard; you know that. And there are consequences to breaking the heart of a murdering bastard. You experienced some of them. Was my reaction really that surprising?

Beatrix: Yes, it was. Could you do what you did? Of course you could. But I never thought you would or could do that to me.

Bill: I'm really sorry Kiddo, but you thought wrong.

And then they fight, and she kills him.

PERFECTION, in my humble opinion. So much raw emotion hidden in between the lines. I LOVE IT TO BITS.

She Blogs, She Blogs!

Ooh look, she blogs again!

I find that it's such a struggle to express myself now. I whine and moan and retell stories to my friends on a regular basis without any problems. But blogging, on the other hand, involves opening up to strangers AND attempting to sort through my thoughts - which thanks to recent events have become even more chaotic than usual.

I cannot even begin to describe the intense urge running through me now to just flee and close this post and let it stew as a draft (as I've done numerous times in the past few months; effectively explaining why I only have 8 posts for this entire year).

I've been told that even though I chatter about stuff a lot, I'm actually incredibly closed and reserved, particularly about stuff that bothers me. I should open myself up more, the person said, before effectively stabbing me straight through my still-wounded heart (but not consciously on purpose.)

I have sooooo many stories to tell, but I just CAN'T bring myself to actually TELL them here. Reason #1 is something I may have mentioned before; a creed that I forced upon myself when I was younger - 'leave no evidence behind!' It's something that I have tried to contradict throughout the years by starting diaries and journals... only to lose and stop writing in the end. I have quite a collection of unfinished diaries because of this. Diaries that were dutifully updated daily, before the gaps started appearing and the updates became more sparse, until the whole thing just ended abruptly. No formal goodbyes, no official 'this is the end of this diary'. Just a regular update that would turn out to be the last one, followed by blank pages.

That seems like quite a scary parallel to mortality, but I have no wish to dwell upon that train of thought.

Anyway, reason #2 would be the 'running from something'... thing. I dunno. There's *something* in my mind that scares me. Something buried that I don't want to uncover. It's like my mind is a library, and as of now the shelves are in disarray and lots of books are on the ground. Every time I try and sort them out; pick them up and put them back where they belong, I'm filled with an incredible sense of dread... like I'll discover something hiding beneath a pile of books, or something hiding behind a shelf. I'm pretty sure it's just my mind exaggerating... I'm actually willing to bet that if I do discover a monster, it'll turn out to be a fluffy little bunny rabbit. Like the one in Monty Python and The Holy Grail. Perfectly innocent.

Pain or no pain, though, I have decided that I will be blogging more on a regular basis. The main reason being that I don't want my writing skills to atrophy while I'm on my gap year. The other reason would be that I cannot let the library of my mind fall into decay. I have to start sorting shit out... can't postpone it any longer. I may feel like shards of glass are shooting through me every time I pick up a thought and try to sort it out... but one's got to do what one's got to do.

Maybe in a couple of month's time, I'll feel well enough to start telling stories again.

Before I leave for now though; here's an epiphany that came about while I was washing my face earlier (I know.. don't even start):

I'm atheist by choice. I put a great deal of thought into it a while back, and realized that it made much more sense than believing in something simply because my family said so. I've also stopped believing in a meaningful, orderly universe with a cosmic scale that dishes out good stuff for good people and bad stuff for bad people.

There is no god; we just like to think that. The universe is meaningless, as is our existence.

But I don't mind that at all.

There is no god that dictates what I should or should not do. There is no god that watches over every single thing that I do. My mistakes are my own, and I can fail as often as I need without having to fear punishment; my triumphs are my own.

There is no great plan; there is no meaning; there is just chaos. But it is up to me to create my own little bubble of order. It is up to me to create something out of this meaningless tumult.

I feel free. No, wait. I AM free. And I love that.

All human beings should try to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why.
- James Thurber

She Lives

I live!

So it's been a while. Lots of things have happened. Lots. Interesting things.

But I don't think I'll be blogging about them. Well, maybe I'll write about some minute events, but I don't think I'll be talking about the most relevant ones in the near future.

Two reasons for this;

a) It's not just *my* story alone. Granted, I'll be retelling it from my point of view, but that doesn't change the fact that there are other people involved in the story, and it might be seen as a breach of trust if I publish it on the interwebz.

b) I may have retold the story to my group of friends so many times that I can't be arsed to retell it again. I could end up just copy-pasting what I've sent to 3 different groups of people in 3 different languages. So there.

But anyway, I think I shall blog again. I am taking a gap year, and I don't want my writing skills to atrophy during that time. Besides, I really liked how even just typing about random stuff helped maintain order in the chaos that is my mind.

I think that shall be all, for today. I'll be back again soon. Maybe next time I shall speak in coded messages about what happened since the last time I updated.

Self-Diagnosis

Right.

I think I know what my problem is.

I've already established that I have a bad habit of running when things get uncomfortable. Well, basically, *that* is my problem. For a supposedly emotional creature, I don't really allow myself to feel. I let myself be giddy with happiness; float high above clouds and all that shite. But I tend to run at the first sign of anything negative. It's fairly obvious when I watch TV - if the main character has to go through disappointment or embarrassment of any kind, it takes all my strength to keep myself from switching channels or bolting out of the room.

This, from a person who genuinely hates all the cutesy fluffy stuff Disney has to offer.

I run. I run, or I suppress stuff. When life throws me a curve ball, I look away from it and distract myself with other things. Very unhealthy habit. Because ignoring or running away from said things don't really make them go away. If anything, it has the potential of making them stronger. Instead of facing up to them the moment they appear, I turn my back, and so they join together with whichever new shite comes along, and then I have twice as many demons to contend with.

I should allow myself to feel. What am I afraid of? I'm not going to break.

Maybe I'm afraid cause when I let myself feel - I *really* do feel. But I tend to be sadder than most people because I let things pile up. Maybe I should stop doing that and gather up the courage to stand my ground and face whatever's coming.

I mean... Fuck's sake.

But even Timelords run. Why can't I?

Oh, the ones that ran away. I never stopped.

- The Tenth Doctor

My Catharsis, All Mine

So I've not blogged in... quite a long time. I've actually got no one to apologize for but myself, or perhaps this blog who has probably been feeling quite lonely. I haven't visited this blog for so long that Google Chrome doesn't even auto-complete the URL anymore. That, I find quite sad.

It's just that there was a lot of school stuff that needed doing, and I've had to churn out essay after essay after essay, so now writing feels like such a chore. I've gotten A's on quite a few papers though, so I guess that has to count for something.

It's not just that, though. I think the main reason for me not posting anything here is... I'm running. Running from my own thoughts; afraid of what might come to the surface if I start jotting down the superficial ones.

Running. Bad habit. If only I could be arsed to do it in a literal way, then perhaps it'd be more productive.

There are days, however, when one realizes that the running has to stop at some point; that demons must be faced and dealt with. That, or one may simply be out of energy. I don't know which stage I'm at. Could be a combination of the two. Either way, I've decided to face the feckers.

With writing comes catharsis. But the process isn't entirely painless. Writing helps bring order to thoughts that otherwise mull about aimlessly on the surface. But organizing those reveals the even wilder chaos that lurks beneath. Few are brave enough to face that chaos willingly; I am not one of them. I run because I don't want to glimpse whatever is hidden in the recesses of my mind. I don't know what I'm afraid of, really. Compared to most people, my personal demons are not particularly vicious. But that still doesn't change the fact that I feel like bolting every few seconds even as I write this. Every bit of me is screaming at me to go do something else that is more fun - something mindless - anything. Just not this.

I'm listening to music to drown out the protests.

I've also stopped updating my diary. Another bad habit. I've got plenty of diaries from years past that were just discontinued quite abruptly. Then one day, I feel well enough again to pick up a pen and write about my life, and then the process begins again. I feel like this is a cycle that must be broken.

What is it with me? What is it that I'm so afraid of? Sticks and stones can break bones, words will never hurt (except they can), but thoughts can drag one down in ways one can't even begin to imagine.

What am I afraid of?

I don't know.

I just run. I try and keep myself busy, but the thoughts catch up eventually. And dark thoughts have a tendency to become even more vicious when one tries to suppress them.

I wish this update could be cheerier. But then that wouldn't be helpful to me at all, would it?

I knew there would be a price to pay for me choosing to take Philosophy. It's always like this. One has to take the madness that comes with the nuggets of wisdom. It's a wonder my philosophy teacher hasn't gone insane. Oh, wait...

So what am I afraid of?

I know who I am and I know that might (and most likely will) change. I know what I'm capable of and what I am not. I know that some memories hurt; but just like ordinary blades they will eventually dull and lose their ability to cause pain. I know that everything changes. I know that no matter how much I want to hold on to old things I have to learn to let go. I know all too well the pain that comes from watching (or worse; letting) opportunities saunter by.

I know, and I feel.

What am I so afraid of?

I should maybe stop running. One must stand still in order to kick asses.

Old quote, but I feel that it fits.

An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why.

- William Faulkner