Shh…this is between us. Nudge me if my boss’s coming. It kind of keeps me happy at work. Happiness is my company’s motto, anyway.
Posts Tagged With: cartoons
I’ve never want to be tall. This is the example of many reasons.
These are only bits of pros. Even I cannot reach for the bar on the bus. Cannot pick something on the top shelf at supermarket. Cannot see what’s in the deepest part of the freezer. Or do not notice what I want when it’s up over my eyesight. Even people always throw their elbow on my head accidentally (Ouch!). Even a lot of things happen, I do not complain.
I attended a class called ‘Happiness’ at my office. I know. I know. Not that everyone in the class was so desperate or felt life was cheating on them. The content of the subject based on the Happiness class from Harvard…or Oxford? Or Cambridge? However, I ended up with a little project of my own. Something to help me develop something. Something to help me accomplish a mission. Something to enlighten my mind. To help me feel good with myself, so to speak. And my mission, which should have started a few weeks ago, is 10 (actually 15, but…well) drawings of my new drawing style. Drawings of anything comes out of my mind. I’m not a professional illustrator, though.
This is the project one: Care About What’s Worth.
I made a new experiment with Copic markers (fantastic!) and water color. I’m bad at painting. I know it now. Is that the purpose of this project? No?
Dear Work and Life (no, it isn’t in order of priority or importance or trouble),
How are you? I’m not good as you may see. No, you didn’t ask but thanks anyway. I need to tell you something.
I almost cannot bear it anymore. I. NEED. SOME. TIME. OFF!!
I was not born this way; being so dull. Personality comes with history.
It’s me at 1 year old, 6, 10, 13, 16, 18, and now, twenty-something.
Told you, I wasn’t born to be dull in the very early of life. I was born fine (though somehow the dolls in my family always got neck severe injuries) until life’s got me. I’ve stopped listening to people since about 18. Well, it’s the time you don’t listen, anyway. So no ears is reasonable enough. And apparently, I stopped physically growing up around junior high….boo.
It’s just life that happens to you.
Last year, we had a visitor and this visitor became the permanent visitor.
We called her Meow or the Stupid Cat since she was really stupid. No one claimed responsibility or guardian for her. It was not entirely unexpected because our house was the only one with no dogs and a lot of cats came for a shelter all the time. I’ve seen many generations of cats visiting to and fro at my house. Some of them stayed for a while and some of them stayed longer. But this particularly one was (and still is) the longest resident. She would never go anywhere. Sometimes she had gone for a day or two, but she was the ultimate homecoming. She expanded her territory and became dominant in the neighborhood. A few cat lovers stopped by and fed her at our front gate (again, she would not be going anywhere).
The right eye of the Stupid Cat seems to be badly functional. I don’t know if she can see through that eye. If so, it definitely doesn’t work well (maybe both eyes). The Stupid Cat never learn anything. Her learned behavior is obviously bad and doesn’t like other ordinary cats. Somehow she looks like having some mind problems. Good thing is she’s capable of cuteness sometimes. Fortunately! It’s the gift of every cat. If she can’t be cute, I don’t know why she was born to be a cat in the first place!
The bad thing is the Stupid Cat always has an issue with Mom.
Mom never declare herself as a pet lover. Let alone the fact that she is allergic to fur (me, too). The difference between she and I is that I never conceal my fondness for cats. It doesn’t mean I would be running and meowing with them. No. I respect every animal. But the Stupid Cat always makes many mistakes; ransack the place, keep getting into Mom’s way, keep meowing for attention, gnaw on every possible objects like a puppy, etc. But sometimes, Mom’s cat lover’s ability is cracked through her stone face. The conversation would be like this:
Mom: Feed your baby. Shut her up.
Me: What!? (Gosh! I’ve never been married! Let alone having a boyfriend!)
Mom: Your baby! There, it keeps moaning for hours.
Me: (Realizing whom she meant) Oh, she’s definitely not my baby although I kind of like her. Let’s see if we have something for her.
Mom: (Mumble) There is a can of Tuna in the fridge…
Me: Ok, that’d work… (Trying to hide my smile 😉 )
It’s always been like this with Mom and the Stupid Cat. Mom tried not to show any affection and the Stupid Cat kept showing its stupidity. Until…
We know which cat is their biological father, but like any male lions, the dad cat doesn’t even realize these kittens are his children and the mom cat has to protect them from him. At least, we know the Stupid Cat also contains cat instinct, anyway. The kittens, which we call the Meow Meow Meow or the Cat Cat Cat, have developed their personality in no time. Two of them are hissing all the time. One of them is hiding or running away every time someone comes close. The bravest girl is the grey back one…or she just inherits too many characteristics from the Stupid Cat. They cooperatively cause more commotion. I think Mom’s head is about to explode. But then, she cannot resist the temptation…
If you’re not used to kitten power yet, you should practice from now on. It’s very dangerous. No matter how mischievous they are, the kitten power usually turns on. Mom is one of their victims. She even gets the Stupid Cat more luxurious food. I guess it’s because she knows what mothers need to get through day and for their kids. Don’t get her wrong, she’s still hard on them, don’t want them to be spoiled. She was like that with us, too, as I recalled 😛 However, she never agreed when I wanted to buy some cat food until one day…
Ok, I just asked unexpectedly if she would like to buy some cat food when we passed the section. She surprised me by grabbing a big box of cat food. Big box. Not just cans or bags of a meal I usually bought. Wow, was that revolution day? She still (tried to) showed no affection until…
The next thing we know we might find ourselves get these kittens vaccines and a huge cat condo.
Professional I always want to be.
But what does ‘professional’ mean exactly?
Recently, I find myself not so professional. I mean in term of business. I’ve got my job, a professional career (it’s meant to be professional, not that I have to be, though). However, it’s not that professional in my definition. It’s more materialism, more objective. When it comes to professional, I think of business people; economics, medical field, politics, and every field which needs competent and liable appearance. These people will walk in the outside world with such self-assertive confidence which I never have. Sometimes they almost feel they’re condescending.
As I hadn’t studied in those fields (I didn’t regret it. OK, maybe just a little), I happen to think if that has influenced what I become today. Of course, it is. If I had studied Accounting like my mother and big sister, I would definitely not have learnt the art of being impecunious independence as I am today. Or if I had studied Law as my mother had hopefully suggested, I would have been more eloquent. Or if I had studied Engineering as peer general trend at the time, I would have known how to have my inconsiderate laptop work. However, there were reasons why I did not take those courses.
The first reason happened since I was the sixth grader.
Can you believe that these symbolic significance of numeral and unidentified alphanumeric codes are for sixth graders? They are only eleven. I was only eleven! I was busy trying to survive peer pressure and learn how to live than comprehend these numerical force. And as if that’s not enough, look at the answer, 2+1=3!? Great, I learnt that in kindergarten, using my fingers and toes and friends’ head. What the necessity of complicating things? No wonder why I hated mathematics and algebra and could not force myself to learn it in university.
Note: I used to be like this in Physics class in high school, except that the teacher wrote ‘R.I.P.’ back on the paper with a meekly huge red zero under it.
Another rationale was the most overwhelming. It happened when I was senior in high school.
Can you imagine ‘things’ which are able to silence all twenty of the most boisterous and hyperactive teenage girls (I was in private girls’ school)? It was when the school held a tour to a medical institute in order to let us see what a medical student has to learn and inspire us. The consequence was counterproductive, at least for me. I saw all the horror for a life time in one particular day. There were unborn children (and never been born, unfortunately) arranged in every week of ages for us to see the development. I decided to leave it to the mother in duty. There were also bodies which each had been exhibited all the muscle tissues, both smooth and skeletal, internal organs, bits of skeletons, blood vessels, arteries, every part of brain (cut into pieces to see what inside was), every part of heart (same as brain), and every core and detail of human organism. There were human bodies with diseases. There was even a body which was not a body, but the literally practical nerves in a body been meticulously peeled out and injected the colors to see all the threads thoroughly. It was as if every eye and brain and cell were intensely staring at you, as if thousands of tiny needles were prickling your nerves. I appreciated the painstaking detail, though.
I felt as if my remained childhood innocence had been cruelly harassed when we entered the ‘objects’ section. It was worse than looking at those soulless bodies and none-bodies. It was the pain of memories they represented. The pain of how inhuman human was capable of doing to each other. The pain of innocence such as the little boy who had hidden in a large jar when there was fire. The jar was there, carrying the memory of the boy. And there was the real serial killer’s body over eight or nine decades ago. He had been small. Even though his body shrank from the process of stuffing, I could see he had not been a big man. How could he chop people alive and eat their guts?
When I got out of the heartbreaking building to the world of the living, the unsettling reminiscence was still knocking in the back of my head. I saw people as the merely containers of souls and cells, cutting the right nerve or vessel in their brains and they were gone for good, once and for all. I have NEVER thought of learning to be a doctor again.
That’s so overwhelming. Although I liked Biology, I found the plants’ cells were much more lovable than human and animals’ organs. And although I did well in Chemistry and was the creme de la creme in my class, I hated it. So what’s left? Ahh, art and languages, my inner supports! After those tragic catastrophe, what would soothe me best except a good piece of literature or a gentle art work or even a tinkling music? It reminds us how beautiful people’s minds still are. It reminds us human is not slicing other people all the time. Still, art and those medical investigation relate somehow. I cannot help wondering that doctors might be good artists, considering they know all the detail of bodies like that 😛
However, if I chose another way of life or another more professional way, I would not be the person I am today. I might have learnt to be a successful person, even a billionaire, but not a happy person. A busy bee I might have been but I also might have ended up finding no peace and committing kind of suicide by relentlessly banging my head on the wall with mind-numbing boredom eventually. That’s not good for me and people around me, so I guess what comes out now is already the best solution; being obscure and frivolous, doing things of my own volition, staying low-profile and languid, facing psychological breakdown sometimes. Isn’t that good enough?
Flattery is in my veins, especially compliments for my very own self.
I’ve been proud of myself since I was a kid. Well, if you don’t praise yourself, who will do? OK, it may sound smug, full of myself, conceited, or whatever, but hey, there was not many people did compliment me. My mother rarely appreciated what I’d done. It was not her fault, anyway, she was just too busy to notice such little things. However, I learnt some lessons when I was about seven. It was when I did my homework for an art class…
My dignity, my self-satisfaction, was ruined. It was worse when I did not even notice the damage. Wish Mommy hadn’t told the painful truth. My masterpiece!
In the indefinite mist of illusion derived from high fever, sweet deception of stagnant life only a year after graduation, and living among madness and complexity of incomprehensible people, I decided to leave this life and become an adventurous pirate in the open sea.
However, then, I realized that I was born in the wrong period of time. There’s no awesome pirate with sword and dignity anymore, but an illegal one smuggling drugs, hazardous weapons, etc. No dignity fighting. No exploring the world. This planet earth has been explored thoroughly. No giant octopus. No Titan….
Alright, I will go to bed. I should go to bed now before any real damage is done. Urg, the pill I’ve just taken isn’t too strong, is it?