Sick. No, not that kind of sick (which can be any kind of sick).

I’m sick. Not totally-unable-to-move from-bed or delirious fever but still, sick.

The weird thing is, I don’t even know the rebellion reasons of my own physical, worldly body. Normally, my body has proper and structured steps, rules and protocols (as befitting of one with respectable and high social status) for sickness (for someone who don’t usually follow rule, my body acted differently. Irony? Karma? Compensation?) :

1. Tired
2. Sneezing and phlegm-ing (anybody had better proper word?)
3. Sore throat 
4. Light fever 
5. If doesn’t get enough sleep and rest, in this state, my body will throw tantrum with heavier fever

But today, my body (it’s awkward calling it ‘my body’, let’s call it The Body) goes from step one, and one night-sleep later, directly jump into step 3 in the morning and step 4 in the evening.

Has The Body caught up with my rebellious nature to rules? Does he want to break free from confining chain, restricting jail of one called Rule?

And yes, I’m halfway at step 5 now. What can I say? I find it easier when there is less voices in my head (I’m not crazy. …..I hope so), which usually only happen in rare occurrences of being sick and halfway stimulated brain tired.

Opportunity is opportunity. (Or just another excuse to sleep late. Heh.)

Resolution

Photo: INDIVIDUALITY by cfinke

I've always a self-conscious child. I'm still a self-conscious young man . It means I thought people will notice the foolishness, mistake I made to the point of paranoia. It makes me shy, only wanted to blend in, fit in.

But now, after years struggling, I had it enough. And thus, I declared: I would not try to fit in anymore. Not anymore, not now, not in the future.

It's not foolishness; it's total madness. Trying to be what I am not, that is. And even if somehow I found a way to hold the mask long enough, it's just not worth it.

So what if I'm shy, awkward, not a great talker? It's who I am, and most of the times, it's easier to follow the current rather than fight it. Not to say I'm a coward (not in this case, anyway), but some fights are not worth it. Heck, most of fights are not worth it.

As my Enneagram (it's one popular type of personality system) type states, I'm a 5-4-9. All the three type I had is passive type (and some people wonder why I'm so lazy. It's not laziness, people, it's passiveness!).

But hey, the description of 5-4-9 taken from Personality Types certainly had the paradox I love.

5-4-9: shy, somewhat fragile and a bit romantic, such Fives tend to put on a congenial facade to hide their rich inner worlds from the society. They outwardly appear friendly but reserved, usually mysterious to other people who sense there is more depth and intensity hidden behind their amiable mask. These Fives have rich imaginations and love to immerse themselves in thoughts and fantasies. They are introspective, dreamy, creative and socially withdrawn, but also disorganized and painfully avoidant.

typical subtypes: self-preserving, sexual, 5w4
similar tritypes: 5-9-4, 9-5-4, 4-5-9
flavours: insightful, imaginative, enigmatic and unstructured

Mysterious. I like the word. So far, only one person had said it to me directly.

Confused Twenties

There was a time I thought I don't need goal. With intelligence and hardwork, I would achieve anything my heart set to. Dream, motivation and planning are reserved for lesser human.

I was at Primary 4. I was 10 years-old.

Now -- another lifetime for the 10 years-old me -- I've learnt, at least enough to know it was such an arrogant thought, based on nothing but ignorance laced with hint of naivety.

I understand enough what defines man, sets course to his whole life, boiled down to this simple, overused word: Goal.

Not many things worth the energy and time -- or more specifically -- my whole life dedication. Among those worthy few, I wonder whether the payback would be greater than sacrifice?

I wonder, while standing in the great gate of transition, whether I had the luxury of time to contemplate passion and courage to jump the risks?

I wonder if I could find purpose of life; and if I did, dare I, would I, could I give up everything to pursuit it?

And I tell myself: Welcome abroad from angsty teenage to the confused twenties.