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It’s me. Yes, it’s weird but I like being sad. I never complain about it. It gives me a pleasant feeling indeed… Being sad…

Thought Catalog

I like being sad. I like feeling utterly alone or helpless or dark or all three at once. I like lying in bed and crying or just laying in bed, staring at my ceiling, brooding over the train wreck my life seems to be. I like feeling sorry for myself. I like being miserable and touchy and quiet. I relish in the question, “Are you okay?” I get off on looking ominous and answering with a quiet, “Yeah……(read, prolonged silence) I’m fine I guess.”

I don’t feel sad because I’m depressed. I don’t feel depressed because I’m crazy. I like being sad because sad inspires me. I like being sad because sad gives me courage to say things. Sad gives me an excuse — more than anger or euphoria or mundaneness — to speak my mind. Sad sometimes even gives me a free pass for the things that escape my…

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Little things

What a good day! 31.3.2013. Doesn’t it sound special? I’ve been so exhausted of working and millions other things that I don’t want to do anything anymore, even hanging out with friends or simply lazy lying on bed all day doing nothing. Everything makes me tired. I’m not even bothered of making something to eat even though I’m starving. You could say I’m the laziest person alive in this whole world but it doesn’t help at all. I’m still here, typing nonsense on my laptop and yawning all the time. But Chopin music is always excellent and no one could deny it. It 100% suits a last Sunday morning like this.

Waltzes No. 7, Op. 64, 2 in C Sharp Minor.

1. Grandma:

I don’t mean to number grandma as a thing I write about on my blog because it doesn’t seem so nice but it’s the only way I can remember things to put them in order. Whatever! I love her and it’s the only thing that matters. I had a dream last night and I saw her there, standing in a busy street, looking for someone who could give her a ride home. Her hair turns grey so quick. As I remember, when I was a kid, my cousin and I usually gathered at grandma’s place to play childhood games and sometimes we helped her to pull her grey hair out because they annoyed her so much. But back to that time, she’d still got long shiny black hair. Not anymore now and it makes me sad, a lot. She’s getting old. I can’t stop that. No one can do anything about it. I hate to admit but my worst fear is seeing my beloved grandparents getting old and eventually leaving me alone in this world. It’s scary, isn’t it? The feeling of being left behind while you can’t do anything against the unchangeable rules of life.

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Yesterday, one of my cousins got married and he was the first grandchild who ever got married. It was such a great news to my grandparents. How lovely it is to see our grandchildren be born, grow up then go to work, find love and get married then have their own babies! It must be a memorable moment to grandparents. Finally they can live up to see their first grandchild start a new life with his woman. I feel so happy too. I’m happy to see them happy. But then think about myself, will my grandparents still be there, in my wedding to see me in my wedding dress? Will they be there to see me hand in hand with the man of my life and know that their little granddaughter is always happy and blessed? It saddens me so much thinking about that moment. What if they’re not there? What if they’ll never know how happy I’ll be when I have everyone I love gathering around me in the happiest day of my life? Stop getting old, grandma and grandpa. I’m begging you. I won’t ask for any lollies or new toys or extra pocket money. I’m just asking you to stay with me a bit longer then you can see me grown up, successful and happy. Please. Please.

I don’t know why in that dream I didn’t do anything to help grandma. I just stood there, observed her from behind. It felt like there was an invisible wall between us, which prevented me from talking to her. I just followed her like a shadow.

I’m sorry grandma. I’m sorry for not being there to take care of you every day. I’m sorry for going away and chasing my dreams then I can’t be with you, talk to you a lot like before. I’m sorry for growing up then you have to get old. I’m sorry but I love you very much and I’m sure you don’t need me to say it out to understand. Stay strong and wait for me till the day I get married.

Love you, forever!

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2. I don’t know:

I really don’t know what to write anymore. I tend to write some more but then I ran out of mood. Leave it to the next entry. Now I need to get up, do my laundry as the sun is coming out, make something to eat then wait for everybody back home to wake up then Skype with them to see what they did yesterday in the wedding.

Bye for now!

Have a great day! XoXo =)

danh-ngon-tinh-yeu

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Excerpt from “Love in the Ruins” by Walker Percy

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Now comes the love of music of man in particular for women in general: happy, faithless, seductive music: the race and rip of violins dancing, whipping, tricking, fizzing in a froth of May wine, sunshine sunshine, and cotton dresses in summertime.

Who am I?

I am he who loves. I am in love. I love.

Who do you love?

You.

Who is “you?”

A girl.

What girl?

Any girl you please. You.

How can that be?

Because all girls are lovable and I love them all. I love you. I can make you happy and you me.

Only one thing can make you happy and it’s not that.

Love makes me happy. Knowing makes me happy.

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Excerpt from “Everything Is Illuminated” by Jonathan Safran Foer

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It was almost dark when the sound of crickets awoke her. She lit the Shabbos candles, observed the shadows against her hands, covered her eyes and said the blessing, and went up to the Kolker’s bed. His face was badly bruised and swollen.

Brod, he said, but she silences him. She brought up a small block of ice from the cellar and held it against his eye until his face couldn’t feel anything, and her hand couldn’t feel anything.

I love you, she said. I do.

No you don’t, he said.

But I do, she said, touching his hair.

No. It’s OK. I know you’re much smarter than me, Brod, and that I’m not good enough for you. I was always waiting for you to figure it out. Every day. I felt like the czar’s food taster, waiting for the night when the dinner would be poisoned.

Stop, she said. It’s not true. I do love you.

You stop.

But I love you.

It’s OK. I’m OK. She touched the puffy blackness around his left eye. The down, which the saw blade had released from the pillow, clung to tears on their cheeks. Listen, he said, I’ll be dead soon.

Stop.

We both know it.

Stop.

And I wonder if you could just pretend for a while, if we could pretend to love each other. Until I’m gone.

Silence.

She felt it again, the same as that night when she met him, when he was illuminated at her window, when she let her arms brush down her skin to her sides and turned to face him.

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I feel infinite

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“I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things. I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn’t do or what they didn’t know. I don’t know. I guess there could always be someone to blame. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Because it’s okay to feel things. I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. I feel infinite.”

Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

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Life in the Woods

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“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”

Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods