Best

“All your can do is try your best.”

No.

That’s not all your can do.

What you CAN do is DO YOUR BEST.
Don’t try to. Just do it.

Because THAT’S what sets you apart from the mediocre “we’re trying our best” lot.
THAT’S what motivates you to keep doing your best.
THAT’S what gives you more purpose or meaning in life.
And THAT’S what actually gets things done.

You think it was the “we’re just trying our best” lot of people who changed the world?

No.

Sure, it was the out-of-the-box thinkers, the not-afraid-to-go-where-nobody-has-gone-before folks who really made the difference, but do you think they all just settled for “trying their best”?

No.

I think they went and DID their almighty best over and over again until they were truly satisfied that they did enough.

 

Now that’s what I implore you go do for yourself.

Go be your best.
Go do your best.

 
As a music tutor, I’ve always been the hard ass who pushed my students no matter how good they already were. Why? Because it made them better. Not just as pianists, but as people who could endure more, be disciplined more, push themselves more.

And the end results were always so beautiful!

 
My tutor did that with me. I hated her for it for a long long time.
But now, nothing can take away what she has made me.
I am better than I ever was, and I know to push myself till I ache.
Because she showed me why that mattered.

 

 

 

As an afterthought-
What motivated me to write this wasn’t music, but this piece of sad sad news about beehives being deliberately burnt to a char, killing thousands of bees.

It’s sad, not just for the bees, not just for the Earth or the delicate situation we’re in with the dwindling bee population, but because of how insensitive we are as a “superior” race.

The Earth is dying.
We did this.
And we’re still doing it.
And that isn’t doing your best, in my opinion.

And not wanting to do your best in this situation is a sorry excuse for wanting to live,
Because you have nothing worth living for.

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The Customer Assistance Lady

I met a customer assistance lady at the supermarket the other day.

 

I needed help and approached her.

 

She was deaf.

 

Of course she didn’t hear me.

 

But she still signed that she wanted to help.

 

She couldn’t understand what I wanted; and I, couldn’t find the right ways to show it.

 

And so I walked away, smiling apologetically.

 

It wasn’t her fault.
It was me.

 

She tried.
I didn’t.

 

 

 

Who’s the one with the disability again?

Love. Hate. Love

Why do we hate?

.
.
.

I may be na├»ve… a dreamer… But is it too much to wish for peace and wonder why we love to hate?

 

 

I know we’re all different.

 

Some of us academically inclined; while others, athletically.
Some of us taller than most; while some, shorter than most.
Some of us quiet; while some simply love to talk.

Some craving nothing but a hot coffee and a book in a cozy bed; while some outdoorsy others prefer nothing but to backpack or go on a nice long hike.

 

Some of us dreamers, fantasising a utopian world and happier people; while some others simply love to hate.

.
.
.
Why do we love to hate?

 

Why do we love to hate so much?!

 

Why can’t we simply just BE?

 

So your neighbour, a former Catholic, is now in a happy relationship with his gay partner, planning a wedding and parenthood, wears hipster clothing, listens to the blues, drives an old pick up truck, and is African-Asian.

So what?

 
So what?!
.

.

.

 

Why do we hate?

 

 

 

Why do we love to hate?

Sometimes, I quit trying.

Sometimes, you can feel the onset on a down-phase.

Not a full blown depression, but a sort of sadness that lingers on for a while…

Maybe a day… Maybe two…

 

It’s hard to call it out for what it is, but it feels like a lethargy you can’t shake off…

A tiredness of your eyes, your body, your mind.

A dull, hazy ache in your heart.

 

“This can be controlled”, you think.

“I don’t have to let this bring me down so long as I take corrective steps and pick myself up.”

But maybe sometimes you can’t.

Maybe sometimes you’re not really in a position to.

 

Maybe, sometimes it’s okay to let yourself feel this huge impending wave of negative, sorrowful emotion hit you;

because it’s okay not to have the energy to fight it.

 

Maybe, sometimes, it’s okay to take a hit, fall down, and stay down till you’re sure you want to rise again.

Good people, Bad people.

Sometimes I wonder, “Am I good people or not?”

I know I’ve done and said some things that are not good. But do they define me? Do they make me a bad person?

…And then I find my answer in the overwhelming guilt that I feel any time I make the littlest blunders.

I am Good People.

I want to talk to you about my period.

I want to talk to you about my period.

I’m writing this because at least for a while, as I write, my mind will be a little distracted. There’s also things I want you to know; but more importantly, there’s emotions I want you to feel.
Everything I’m feeling right now is real to me. And it shatters me.
And I think the world needs to know.

It’s now 05:42 in the morning, and for the past 90 minutes, I’ve been writhing around in pain, sobbing hysterically, and hating my body for doing this to me every month.
And this is me on the first day of my period every month.

Sometimes, this is me for the first two days.

This pain will last a while. A good while. I usually succumb and swallow a painkiller, but without one, this pain can last a good 5-6 hours. Or sometimes the entire day. Or sometimes for the first 5-6 hours in the day, some brief respite for about 4 hours in between, before it resumes for another 5-6 hours and into the night.

“Menstrual cramps” is a very generic way of terming something every woman will describe to you differently. For me, it’s a crippling back ache, abdominal ache, sore hips, very sore thighs, aching calf muscles, and a headache from all the crying.
That’s just the external, physical pain.

There’s also an indescribable amount of discomfort to deal with since I can’t lay on my back because I may “leak”, I can’t lay on my sides because my hips are very sore, I can’t lay on my belly because again, I may “leak”, I can’t stand much because my legs are weak, I can’t sit long enough to rest because, again, I’m crippled with fear of leaking blood no matter how careful I’m being.
Also, I’m cold and shivering because that always happens on Day 1; but I’m also feeling hot and sweaty in between my thighs.
I’ve got on a pad that doesn’t help the hot, wet, sweaty feeling; and in about three days, I’ll have rashes on either side of my crotch because that always happens after about 4 days of non-stop feminine hygiene product usage.

Oh I haven’t told you about the emotional wrecking yet.

I’m sure it’s a lot of fun to say a woman is “PMSing” when she’s being a bitch, but you have no right. The emotional rollercoaster that JUST ONE month’s period is, is scary to describe.
I can’t speak for other women, but me? I go from stupid self-pity, to absolute hatred for my body, to a strong desire to stab into my abdomen with a kitchen knife several times, to insuppressible rage against everything and everyone, to fits of uncontrollable sobbing, to suicidal depression.

It’s easy to write all those things off. Even I do, a few days after my period is over… But I wish you knew how real all those feelings are at the time.
How real all those feelings are RIGHT NOW.

I’ve been dealing with this for the past 14 years.

That’s 168 periods. Or the way I see it, 168 times, over 14 years, where I’ve come close to yanking my hair off my scalp and crying myself into nothingness.

I appreciate all the help, support, and space I get from friends, family and colleagues during this ordeal, but I wish it helped. I really wish all their efforts helped.
I think I just wish for anything that could help.

Or anything that could take it away.

It’s now 06:23, I’m crying, but now I think it’s because of the self-pity I’m feeling as I proof read while writing, in addition to the pain, discomfort and emotional meltdown.

In other news, I might have to do nothing today, just like I do every first day of my period each month.
So that means calling in sick to work. Cancelling my lessons. Cancelling my home lessons. Cancelling my practice sessions.
Cancelling my workout plans for the next 4 days.
Cancelling any social plans for the next 3 days.
Avoiding people as much as I can for the next 2 days so I’ll have less apologising to do for being rude and snappy.
Going AWOL on my IM because, again, I might snap.

And even after I’ve taken all this trouble to type this out on my phone, I’m reconsidering sharing it.

I know it’s personal, and probably should not be out circulating on the internet.
And maybe not everyone needs to know.

But again, everyone needs to know.

I think people really deserve to know why most women are so messed up every monthly cycle.

I know no matter how much I try, I’m never going to be able to put into words the full magnitude of what transpires in my body and mind, but I think I tried my best.

It’s now 06:44. I think I’ll watch videos of animals being adorable and cry thinking about how innocent and pure they are, because I don’t think I can cry myself to sleep.