Cranky-ass bitch is blogging.

If you have never participated in a "Policy Debate", or even have a clue what it is (no, it's not what you think, shut up) ... this post doesn't apply to you. Don't read it. Save your time. Save your brain power. Just go away.

(Err okay so it didn't turn out to be much about debate, so it's safe for you to read. This is what happens when you ramble too much... which still really doesn't give you much reason to read this.)

I'm in a horribly cranky mood today, and it's partially due to debate. Not really debate debate, or even the idea of debate, just ... how fucking committed I am to it, and how much it matters to me.

I've been going frequently to debate tournaments since the start of this year. I've been to three now, and my fourth will be coming this weekend. At my last tournament, which was in West Point - sorry, I mean...


... West Point, I realized just how passionate I could feel towards something that started out as an intellectually challenging activity. And at the same time just how much distant I was to the living things around me.

I have spent more time at the tournaments (usually three days per tournament), more time in the debate office and more time with my debaters-cum-friends outside of those things, more than I have with the people in my freshmen hall.

Also because I'm just so meh about it all ... this whole sharing bathroom thing (fucking hate HATE having my private bathroom time being invaded, even by passive beings. FUCKING HATE), I'm so over the idea of traveling around in cliques, I'm just so done with it all. I know it sounds horrible, but I'm not a college freshman. Not really. I don't feel like it. To them, college must be about classes and parties and friends or something.

To me, college is where I really push my limits, both academically and in my interests (hence why I'm putting equal amount of time, sometimes more in my extracurricular activities than my studies); to write, and write, and write; to stop and think about where I am in life and where I want to be tomorrow, or next semester, or in four years; to meet new people and establish connections - and not just of the social kind.

And then coming back to my dorm at the end of the night ... just to sleep.

To me, my dorm is exactly just that. A place for me to sleep, and where all my things are at. I don't even need a roommate - though I LOVE my current roommate to death. College is basically a continuation of what I've been doing my whole life - working and learning and writing and finding myself (oh and fucking, but you already know that) and then coming home at the end of the day - except now I'm doing it on my own now. Without my family by my side.

I don't see it in terms of going to Physics 101, eating lunch with my friends, then Chem 101, then more hanging out with my friends in the dorm, then homework, then sleep. I don't. I see it as: get up in the morning,  go out and learn shit that will definitely be useful to me (learning about wars > learning about molecules), grab food, do a little writing/editing/debate stuff/theater stuff (all of which are useful to me as a writer/thinker), then some homework (this is the only time I feel like a college student), then sleep.

This is why I don't feel like I'm in America. I don't feel like I've moved thousands of miles away, or have flown 36 hours to get here. Sometimes when walking on the street I look up and try to slap it into myself that I'm in America, bitch, but it doesn't work. I feel exactly the same as I have back in Malaysia. (On some levels, just minus the whole go-crazy-party-on-Friday-nights thing.) Despite looking up and seeing buildings that I would never in my life see in Malaysia, despite the cold, despite the trees with leaves so orange ... I stil feel like I've never left the world I've built for myself.

Before coming to America, I remember freaking out about where the "center of my soul" is, and if it lied (laid?!) in something physical like my bedroom (in Malaysia) or in this laptop since this is where I have all the stuff that matters to me, or whether it's (cliche) in me.

And then I got into the whole question of whether you place the center of your soul in something, or if you FIND it, and then fuck me in the ass because things just got real complicated from then on because I have a vagina and that's what vaginas do. They complicate things.

But today I realize that the center of my soul just might be with me. It's portable, and I carry it to wherever I build my next home.

My dreams and aspirations, and the way I've decided to work towards them, and my attitude towards life and other people (hate you all ... I'm just joking. No, I'm not) ... they've never changed. I'm still who I am, wherever I go. Give me the opportunities, give me the tools, and I will build my same self out of nothing for you.

And that's the case with debate. Now that I'm done with the rambling, here comes the surge of vulgarities.

Hey, fuck you.

Yeah, you.

If you think that debate is just a JOKE.

What do you think it is? A class that you can just get an A on? Fuck me sideways. It is not.

If you don't realize the beauty and the gravity of debate, you are not prepared. If you watch a round of policy debate and you don't feel scared shitless (or at least "inadequate and depressed" as a friend puts it) then you are not prepared. If you don't know what a counterplan is, and you have no interest in finding out, you are NOT PREPARED.

Policy debate is not something you can just waltz into and be good at. Not even close. You think just because you can debate, you can be good at it? Kid, this is not debate. This is not debate at all. This is not a debate about ... abortion issues, or your grandmother's apron. At least, it won't be a debate that's JUST about it. I wish I was a higher-level debater so I can tell you what debate is really about, but I concede to you that I can't.

But I know a few things for sure: that even the most basic aspects of policy debate is beautiful. That even what the novices know, and are being taught about, and are training to do ... is an art itself.

To be able to talk at lighting speed and with clarity, and to be understood and deemed pleasant by the people who are trained to understand and enjoy this type of speaking; to be trained to be one of those people - by tuning your ears to that extraordinary level of speed and clarity; to keep up with the other team when they speak at such speed and with less clarity; to think on your feet not by spinning bullshit out of nothing, but within the context of what you have, to act fast with information and to be able to handle that kind of stress, to learn about arguments AS you make them ...

... yeah debate is tough shit. It's not something you can learn overnight. It's not something you can learn within your own group - it's something you learn through debating with other people (yes, meaning you actually have to go out into the world. Scared?) and listening to different judges' tear apart your debating ways.

It. is. tough. shit. You don't get by without spending at least more than half of whatever time you've intended to spend on it. Unless you intend to spend 1000000 hours on it. Then that sounds about right.

If you wanna be good in debate, then expect to sacrifice time. Expect to say goodbye to birthdays, and friends, and half (okay maybe a quarter) of your social life.

If you're not some dedicated crazy motherfucking Asian who also does a whole bunch of stuff on campus, then you won't miss literally all the important events in your social life consecutively. But it will happen. The timing will go wrong, you'll have a big test tomorrow, or a big party to attend, or your best friend's pet dog just died and she wants you by her side ... and then what do you do?

Well, you debate. That's what you do.

No mercy. No pity. Just debate.

So back to the point I was making before I completely went off tangent, and then went off tangent of being off  tangent ... and now I'm back.

So at my previous tournament at West Point, I literally lost 90% of my rounds. During my last round, I had a shit judge (it happens, part and parcel of this game. I accept it, I don't complain ... much) and I broke down. I saw another girl crying, and it was incentive enough.

Which was of course stupid because I barely remember the last time I cried for a guy, or a family member (err didn't meant to put "guy" first), or a friend. The last time I cried was probably when I found out I was failing a subject, or something like that.

Evidently, I have no strong connection whatsoever with humans, and more for the things I feel strongly about. Hah.

And everytime someone asks me, why English? Why Russia? Why History? Why communism? Why this strange fascination with pedophilia in literature? Why debate?

And all I can tell them is, I just fell in love with it, it just happened. I don't know why.

PS - Also, policy debate is literally teaching me something new everytime I read another line of my evidence. (And we have tubs of them. I repeat, tubs.) I now know American politics better than ever, and I'm only going to know a lot more as time goes by, which is always awesome. I now know what plenary powers are, and before I barely knew what mid-term elections were. Policy debate doesn't just teach you how to debate, or how to argue - that's other forms of debate. When you have to speak nine minutes of constructive, and six minutes of rebuttals, also not to mention you are completely involved in the entire round of the debate - either helping your partner prep or listening to the opponents' answers - you learn to debate issues in a very specific way that only policy debates can offer. It's not the simple fact of standing up and opposing the other team's argument, debating policy requires you to strategicize, to frame your arguments according to the situation and to constantly think on your feet. It's a beautiful thing.

PPS - It has also trained me to read dense, intricate, philosophical, political, argumentative documents in a shorter amount of time. I am practically breezing through chapters of my Russian Foreign Policy book. Your brain just immediately highlights the important parts. You also learn to take notes much faster, due to this thing you do in policy debate called flowing. Oh, flowing. If only you knew. Okay I'm done.

PPPS - Apparently I'm not.



Presenting, my debate coaches :) And Karimu in the middle, who's an awesome debater.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Message

Okay so you know that song? Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars?



I know like it's making girls all over the world all warm and fuzzy inside, and you just can't help smiling to yourself whenever the song comes on, and you always imagine your boyfriend/prospective boyfriend singing it to you and you feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, like that moment is oh so perfect - I mean even I can't help it, look at the lyrics: "her laugh, her laugh, she hates but I think it's so sexy" like wow fuck me Bruno Mars marry me now though I have never been and am still not attracted to you ... but you get it.

But honestly, girls ... I'm just here to bring you a friendly neighborhood reminder: a guy who is as sweet as that is going to be either clingy ... or a womanizer.

So yeah. Dreams crushed. You're welcome.

Fuck I'm so confused?!?!?!?

Oh man these past few days have just been like ... a whole jumble of emotions with clashing shapes, sizes and forms.

This is literally how my mind gets from one point to another:

I hate men -> okay I like men again -> fuck sex is so good -> ARGH I HATE MEN AGAIN -> fuck fuck fuckf cuk fuck why do I do this to myself -> I miss home :( I wanna go home :( I rather be emotionally fucked up at home than here, that's where I've always been emotionally fucked up ... what is this strange, strange place?! -> Men suck I hate life -> GAH I WANNA GO CLUBBING I WANNA DANCE WHERE IS MY ZOUK?! -> Maybe if I went to New York City -> I hate men so much -> okay I'm going to distant myself from him -> fuck life -> ARHGAJSAKFJA;F -> I miss Swedish people I miss singing Abba with them at parties man I miss international communities I miss accents fuck this homogeneous place ->

And now I'm kinda here.

Well it's not surprising coming from the fact that it's watching Hitler and Stalin videos that makes me homesick, because my old History class played that much of a role in my memories. So not your usual evocation of home.

And also "home" for me has never been an exactly static concept, since my closest friends are now all over the world, some even here in America. So when I say I miss home, I'm actually saying I miss ... singing Abba at Swedish parties. Or the Spanish community in KL I've been watching the World Cup with. Or the random people I meet every night out. Changkat was my home. KL was my home. Zouk was my home. And those places aren't exactly the forefront of Malaysian culture. They were just places to have a good time.

And my heart never really left KL. But at the same time, I feel like I'm a world away. See where my post title came from.

So for a long time here I was, in my dorm room in Rochester, believing I was truly homesick, that I truly wanted to go back and lead my KL lifestyle again, that America sucks, that it'll never compare, that I really want to go home, that I miss Zouk, I miss Changkat, until one day, something happened.

KL spoke to me.

Through Facebook chat.

I spoke back - very, very seductively too I must say ... but I just didn't feel it.

He told me to come back, and that he wants me to come back.

But I felt nothing. For all the days I've spent here in my dorm room in Rochester, thinking about having KL here with me, so I can live the good old days again ... I felt nothing.

KL was talking to me, and I didn't feel like talking back.

And that just really exacerbated my self-identity crisis, which was messed up already as you can see from the flowchart above.

If I'm not that girl whose heart belongs to the line "Hey sexy girl from Kuala-la-la Lumpur!", then who the fuck am I?

And yes if you read between the lines you sort of know a guy is involved in this somehow. And that just really fucks things up. Like, real bad.

I dare anyone to try and fucking psychoanalyze me. That thing is bullshit. I am such a complex creature emotionally that I think Freud and Jung would rather eat their brains out than try to figure me out. I don't see how anyone can do it, because I'm barely able to do that myself.

I would like to see you try.

Argh.

I'm a self-destructive mess. It's written all over my face. It's written all over this blog post. This is the end of it all. Once this is published, I'm screwed... I will have no mode of interaction left with humans, except through sex.

It's 2.47am and I'm tired.

But whatever. Doesn't change the fact that I'm screwed. Screwed.

Okay.

Okay.

Okayokayokayokayokay.

Okay. I'm letting go of you, buddy. Not that there was anything to hold on to in the first place.

PS - Oh bah. Here comes the getting over process again. It's going to be painful.

PPS - Work is an awesome remedy. From now on, until the end of time, I will work. Work myself to death. Work. WORK WORK WORK WORK. It distracts you to just keep working, and working, and working. When you see me, literally, all the time, I'll be working. Or thinking about work. Yes good plan.

Geometrical shapes vs erratic drawings.

It's not true. Whatever a woman says. Even me. Every word that tumbles out of our mouths might as well be self-inflicted lies. Complete lies.

Regardless of what we say, we're all victims to who we are inherently: whiny bitches.

Woman tells you she's okay with you talking to her attractive friend? Lies.

Woman tells you she's okay with you spending the entire weekend with your buddies? Lies.

Woman tells you she doesn't care? LIES.

No matter who we are, or what we say, or what we do, we are all ruled by our emotions. We can be the toughest SOB on the planet and we'd still cave when emotions come through.

Sad but true. Sad but true...

Men and women think VERY differently. I don't know how much more I can emphasize that. I don't have to have scientific reasons, or even to have lived as a man to know, I just know.

Men and women think in completely different circles. For men, the circle is called ... a straight line. For women, the circle is called ... fuck-where-did-the-circle-go-I've-been-too-busy-walking-in-circles.

It's fucking stupid. Both of them, but probably the women one more. Maybe because I really want to think like a man, and less like a woman. But really, these two different mind paths never fail to amaze me. No matter how the feminists try to argue that men and women are equal in mindpower ... it's still there. This difference.

How a woman can interpret one text message in many different ways, viewpoints, theories, personalities, lifestyles, languages ... the list goes on. And men, oh the men, interpret it in one way: exactly the way it is written.

I know using texting and talking might seem like a very small thing to present a big concept, but it's in this most basic human interaction that the true woman falls through the cracks. How women instantly start to overthink things, while men take their time underthinking. How women are so erratic, and the man so stoic. How women need to talk about their problems, and men don't.

Anyway, back to me. Wait, were we talking about me before? No? Well we should. So back to me.

I can think 80% of the time like a man, and 20% of the time like a woman. But because that 20% is so empowering, it feels like a 100% when I'm in that 20%. Does this make sense? Because it shouldn't. I'm a woman. Nothing I say makes sense. Anyway.

I know that because when I'm being a woman, I totally forget about the times when I'm a man. Because I guess that's what it means to be a man. To be completely oblivious about the fact that you're being a man.

Everytime I bitch-whine to my friend about how I'm falling for this guy, and how it's really torturing me inside waiting for his replies, how it's really really torturing me inside to see him so nonchalant towards my feelings, and how it's fucking torturing me inside to see him with another girl ... my friends just remind me that I've done the same to about twenty guys so who am I to be complaining when it's done to me?

And then I promptly agree, and shut up.

Because it is true I do this to all the other guys. I can like them, and at the same time, not like them. I can be very enamored by them, and still keep my cool. That's because I probably don't like them very much in the first place. Which is also the characteristic of the common man. He does not fall easily. Women fall just as easily as a slut spreads her legs for the next man. Parallel intended.

So that's the first difference. Women fall easily. Men don't. If you're a common average guy - and oh believe me I know the common average guy, all twenty of them - then you don't. Let me put it this way: a woman is more emotionally flexible. We can adjust our preferences to include any guy within our scope of "yes". Guys ... I don't know how guys fall eventually. I'm thinking like a cosmic rock falls on their head one day and they wake up deciding they like that girl.

I don't know. Don't ask me. Because everytime I fall for someone I'm being a woman.

Second difference.

Fuck this shit. Why am I doing this? I have homework, and a Russian test tomorrow.

Point is, women have emotions. Men don't. Don't believe women. All they tell you are lies. Because they have emotions, and everything they say will try to contradict that, and you'll know it's a lie. The end bye.

Kingdom come.

I realize I might have fallen into a dreadful spiral. One that I knew I should avoid, but have fallen into nonetheless.

That spiral is called "campus life".

See, when you go to college in America, your campus will be like your ... kingdom. Your dorm will be your castle. You'll have all the amenities and services you'll need on a daily basis.

Don't want to grow fat and want to attract boys? There's a gym for you.

Want to stock up on food and ice-cream because you went to the gym today? There's a grocery store for you. (Yes, on campus.)

Want to get breakfast/lunch/dinner? There are multiple dining places on campus for you!

There's also a bookstore that sells all kinds of shit from shampoo to pillows, and there's usually a college "currency" that makes it really convenient for you to buy stuff on campus, as opposed to real money.

Laundry?

Don't even talk to me about laundry. All you gotta do is walk a few floors down or up, and you'd get like a thousand washing machines at your mercy. Okay, maybe not a thousand. More like one hundred.

You literally don't have to leave the campus at all if you don't want to. You can go to class, get dinner, go back to your dorm, repeat cycle tomorrow.

Life becomes stupid, literally, when you get stuck in one place. I hate it. I feel like I'm being sucked into this spiral, voluntarily and involuntarily, because 1. I'm so busy that I don't have time to get out of campus 2. I get so tired after I'm busy 3. I'm so busy and tired but I still insist on sleeping and cuddling with this guy I really like until like 2 in the afternoon.

So.

Life's fucked up.

But.

I guess I could always use the excuse that it's only my freshman year, I've only been here for barely two months, but some things happen often enough for you to recognize them as patterns. And I see my pattern as this tired, worn-out but horny college girl who doesn't have time to go out and see the outside world.

And I really hate that. Rochester might not be the greatest city in America, but it's a city in America nonetheless, and that can be pretty awesome. There's currently this gay film festival going on that I'm missing, there are so many events going all around the city and there's this kick-ass art gallery that I've never even set foot in yet. Also because smaller cities in America aren't too big on the whole cab thing ... sucks. So it's hard for me to get around whenever I want, and however I want. Between Malaysia's sketchy cab drivers and America's non-existent ones, I really don't know who I'm rooting for. Really.

But gah. I am a freshman. And I've only been here for barely two months. That's right, keep telling yourself that.

I swear, by my third year I'm moving out. So I can get a car. First I gotta learn how to drive a car. Properly. Americans may be rude drivers too, but they don't cause accidents very much. So I should learn how to do that. And then I'll be able to get around. And go to events, and shows, and art galleries, and stuff.

And then when I get back to KL I'll be like left-hand drive? What left-hand drive?

And once I'm able to legally buy beer here I probably won't complain so much anymore. It's going to be all good.

PS - Goddamnit I haven't even been to New York City yet!!! And before I thought I'd be partying it up there every weekend. Or Toronto ... oh whatever happened to Toronto ... I don't even have a Canadian visa yet. I totally underestimated the commitments I'd be piling onto my Asian shoulders.

Sowing seeds of pessimism since 2009.

So today I got a little insight into the roots of my beliefs, back to where it all started and why it all started. And boy am I such a coward.

Yes, I said it. I'm a coward. I'm fucking scared of hopes and expectations and closeness with human beings, and that is why I live the way I live. And over time those fears evolve into substantial reasons to terminate all emotions associated with monogamy, and to diversify.

To have many hopes and expectations, and make them short-term or dispensable. To have closeness with as many, many human beings as possible, and at the most primitive level only.

And it worked out well for me. As well as a way of life built on substantial fears could.

Really, all those people who preach love, saying things like 'If you don't try, how would you ever know?" or "Be brave, and go out and get love!" or "Bla bla bla" ... seriously. What do they know? Have they gotten love just because they've "reached out and grabbed it"? Or were they also being torn apart in the process, and is currently being torn apart in the process of breaking up with the same person, one-and-a-half years later? True story.

I think building your life on substantial fears, in this department anyway, is the way to go. So what if I avoid feelings just because I'm scared of getting hurt? What good comes out of putting yourself out there, getting hurt, arguably also getting the relationship, but having it end in pieces someday anyway?

People say being in a relationship teaches one life lessons. Wtf kind of life lessons are these?! Been there, done that, nope didn't get any life lesson out of it except that I do not want to remain with the same guy for more than a month.

I think I get more life lessons exploring the primitive instinct and interactions of human beings. By that of course I'm talking about sex. So arbitrary and careless, yet it overpowers all in decision-making, cutting across every cross-section of humanity. A lot of things to explore there.

Relationships, on the other hand, have shit to offer you. Guys, you're just going to go through the same formula over and over again. You think you're learning something new with every relationship, you think you're learning more about yourself and the world out there, but you're not.

All relationships are the fucking same! Why? Because people are all the fucking same!

We're not talking about a war here, where if you don't step up and put yourself in harm's way to defend something you honor, you are going to be missing a lot of valuable life lessons. Not to mention like your dignity. We're talking about relationships, which are stupid, petty emotional warfares at most, and there is just nothing to be learned from them.

What? What can you learn from relationships that you don't already know? That you can be a better person? Dude I get that just by listening to stories about the people of Sudan.

Okay, whatever. Back to myself.

I fear caring for people, and focusing that hope onto one person, because I'm scared of what will happen if I don't get back what I think I deserve, or if things just don't go the way I want it to. It's a risky business, this love thing. If you preach love, you should know that. And I'm saying no, I don't want to reach out and try to grab something that is so blatantly not there. No, I don't want to put myself out there, in this field of stray bullets, and risk being shot in the head - and will probably be shot in the head.

Who would want that for themselves? Who would want to intentionally put themselves in the way of harm?? Would you stand in front of a bullet if you knew it was coming?

Yes, I am saying that just because I know something is bound to go wrong down the road, I am cutting that road off from myself now. Yes, I am cowering in fear from the imperfections because I don't want them to infect me.

So many things could go wrong, May Zhee! So many! He could stop calling, or take a minute longer than usual to reply your texts, or you could start getting this thing called jealousy at the sight of other girls around him, and you would care.

You would care.

You would care!

Care is bad. You don't want care. Fuck care.

And even if you didn't choose to end this road myself, right at this moment, he could be saying, "I don't want this girl." And then voila, the road has ended itself for you.

It's so disgusting the way things like that work.

If someone can answer me this: why should I get hurt?

If someone can answer me that, give me reasons good enough to convince me that running away from very substantial fears is actually bad, that the goodness a relationships brings outweighs the anguish it causes (first you have to convince me the "goodness" is actually good. And no I don't buy into the whole "oh so warm and fuzzy when a guy cares for you" ... you know what I find warm and fuzzy? World War II videos. Yeah shut up), that being shot in the head is actually good ... then I concede my argument.

Now, if you may, I have a hair appointment tomorrow at 3 to color over my unseemly roots.

Untouchable.

Shit. My roommate stirs when she hears the sounds.

She is now awake, staring at me in strange disbelief. Man, this sucks. I thought she was asleep and I could finally do it. Trying to be sneaky and all. Gahhhhhh.

I start to freak out and tell her to go back to sleep, and that I'm really not doing it. Just go to sleep.

And she did.

Until I start it up again, and she stirs, AGAIN.

Man, I just can't finish this, can I?

I freak out with double the intensity from before, really fucking embarrassed now, like genuinely embarrassed, and I tell her to go back to sleep and that I'm really not doing whatever she thinks I'm doing. Again.

I asked her if she could hear me, which is why she woke up, and she said yes, so I told her I would tone it down a little.

In the end, I just decided to use my earphones. I could have easily avoided getting caught listening to Taylor Swift's Untouchable by her in the middle of the night if I was smarter and used them from the start.

Man. She's going to give me so much shit for this tomorrow.

Day 34 of college, surviving.

Before:

Oh Day One, how innocent you were.

After:

"Are you communist?"
"No, I'm just an admirer of history."
(Repeat twenty times.)

I thought I would spruce the room up a little, but who am I kidding. This is how it's going to look everyday, and this is how the world will see it as. Except my mom. Don't show my mom. She'll be appalled, and will probably fly over to lecture me.

Day 34 of college, surviving.