A dinosaur.
That’s what I feel like. Something that’s gonna be extinct soon or should be extinct already, but not quite. An almost dinosaur. All this at 21, and I’ve been this way for the past two three four years already. I’m losing count. Just like just about everything else.
Oh, there are episodes where I feel alive, feel wanted, feel alive alive, brimming with ridiculous energy, bursts of hope and fetishist vim, enthusiasm reminiscent of bygone days (I lie, I don’t recall being anything but robot-like in my childhood pursuits for junkfood, cartoons, and storybooks, the dogged discipline of the pre-adolescent, the one chance before one gets the real taste of life, and with it, the first taste of dying – the dying of dreams, the dying of just-born desires, and the dying of the doves of everything that you thought, no, that the grown-ups told you to be true) that the cliché of cynical creatures called losers in life (and there are so many of them, aren’t they?) tell to be true only if you are what you are not, only if you are where you are not, only if you are in a time that is a when that will never return.
I am, as we all are, a victim of time and memory. Why are we allowed to recall a time we can never call on? I will never be two, eleven, or seventeen again. I will never be able to recall what toys my favourite uncle gave me, he who died a year later before I turned four, and yet now, I worry about what my nephew will remember of me.
I will never feel the humiliation of stammering in front of a hundred fellow primary schoolmates again, though years on, each time I step forth with my precise and confident presentations, there is always a tingle from the ghost of that in my audience’s eyes. I will never fall in love for the first time again, all after marred by history.
But, even if I could, why would I want to? What good would those toys do when my uncle is dead, and so is my grandad, and all those who loved me so much they gave in to my infantile greed, those who were the only ones who understood that fairytales and action figures (woe betide them who utter the phrase “He-man dolls”) were the fantastic portal into which I could escape and grow (what a relish that was!), and learn to write and draw with what could not be learned – imagination? Can dreams bring them back to life?
And what purpose would the shame from schoolday ineptitude serve me today? My times of academic endurance and unpopular discipline will never make up for the fact that the language lord I was couldn’t take the pressure of public speaking, that sports was always and will perhaps forever remain a horror for me, that I was so consumed with power that for respect, I didn’t mind being disliked – Oderint, dum metuant – “Let them hate so long as they fear”. Would shame and humiliation rid me of these stains on my life? Will dirt wash away dirt?
Oh, and don’t get me started on love.
…… How could the first crack on that damned heart that falters and fickle at every beat mend it when it’s just one more slash from tearing apart? How could you escape this circle of infatuation and obsession, finding love and losing love, pining and running, hate and regret? Just when you decided it’s all over and you will never never never love again, you fall back straight into the whole mess. Tell me, how can the first gash heal?
It’s good then I’m one for forgetting. Memories seem to fly past me if I don’t catch them fast enough, or else I bury the pesky things in the attic of my mind (though I have no idea that could be achieved, both figuratively and in reality). The details disappear first, then even the general pictures. Somehow, this is not altogether comforting.
If I forget the pain of losing my loved ones, I forget the joy I had with them while they lived also. If I forget the scars of school, I forget the subtle system and the scintillating subterfuge and the strange simplicity of it as well. If I forget my first love, I forget what love is and I fear I may not love again.
I can’t leave out the salt without omitting the sugar. Life’s a dish that needs both to taste.
So I remain a dinosaur. An almost dinosaur. One who constantly dabbles in the past, which can be dangerous, or worse, dulling to the senses, dimming reality to a flicker. Or it could just awaken one to the perils and pleasures that lie before one’s path; it just remains for one to walk it.
I am a young man whose eyes look forward to tomorrow’s days, but my heart is an old man who dreams of the nights when I was young.
Dinosaurs are extinct. But they don’t have to be dead.
.
.
.
N.B. Was deadly nostalgic when I wrote this, which is always a dangerous thing. So earnest. So young. I guess, I still am. That’s a good thing, right?
.
Copyright © 2001 Kenny Mah Ying Fye. Image: Screen capture of the original BEING ME post where this piece first appeared.
Kenny Mah believes in the good in people. He has been blogging for over ten years. No, his hands aren't tired. Yet.
Kenny the Dinosaur??? Any relation to Barney??? :P
Seriously, in every generation, we may feel as if we are an isolated few — and yet, YOU, Kenny is able to just keep those plain “great words” alive through your writing. ;)
We may, indeed, be dinosaurs — but despite the words of doom and gloom, we are dinosaurs who are, in fact, in no danger of extinction. In fact, feeling like a dinosaur can actually be a good feeling! :D
@jemima: No – chuckles – no relation to Barney, fortunately.
That’s exactly what I mean, my friend, how we may be dinosaurs but no, we aren’t extinct, not quite, not if we always follow our true instincts.
And aye, innit a good feeling? To be a dinosaur, to be alive, to be able to ROOAAARRR!!
Ahem, quite.
Like Justin Timberlake, I’m a dinosaur ‘coz I don’t have a FB or Twitter Account. LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’m a dinosaur ‘coz I believe in sending letters & Christmas cards through the snail mail. LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You felt like a dinosaur at 21? =_=
@jemima: If you are a dino like JT, that makes you One Cool Dino, my friend.
And sending letters & Christmas cards through the snail mail simply makes you a classic. And classy, at that.
(Reminds me I should return to this habit; it’s a fine, fine one.)
@J the chocoholic: Indeed, I did. It’s amazing how many of my so-called mid-life crises came during my teenage years and early twenties.
But now? Now, at 31-going-on-32, I feel like I’m sixteen again! There’s something beautiful about being older, wiser and alive to enjoy these improvements.
Damn. I can’t wait till I get to forty. Some of the coolest people I know are over forty.
*looks lovingly at lyrical lemongrass, nigel a. skelchy and fatboybakes*
It’ll be an amazing achievement. And the journey to forty? I bet it’d be über-fun too!
I too felt strangely over the hill in my 20s, like there’s nothing possibly new that life could offer me to fix the wrongs committed in my youth. And like you, 30s is shaping up to be quite the opposite! So much frenetic energy and zeal, possibilities are endless! At the rate we’re going, not sure if my heart can take what’s in store for the 40s!!
@minchow: LOL.
Oh dear. Your remark about whether your heart can take what’s in store for your 40′s is simply brilliant. Life – it’s brilliant, isn’t it?
*beams*
at least you felt something (in this case, a dinasour) when you were 21!
I was so lost on that age… no direction and no one to guide me! It took me 4 years to get back on track… imagine how much time I’ve loss!
Seriously, I really think that my life has just begun after 30. Now that I have a beautiful family, I am going to leave a legacy that my children will remember :) *fingers crossed*
@Leo (thule): Thanks for sharing this, mate. Very moving, and encouraging also, that you feel your life has begun after 30.
Strange but that seems to be the turning point, no?
Congratulations on starting your family and I am certain it’s a great legacy you’re creating for your children.
*high-fives!*
wahhh… at 21 u were super emo wei!!!… :lol:
now i know where the flair in your writing comes from… ;)
@asstha: “wahhh… at 21 u were super emo wei!!!…”
Hmm. You can say that again. As I keep telling Devil, this (like, right now) is the most mature I’ve ever been. Scary, that.
yikes, how did you manage to sneak this post under our noses without us noticing it before?! sneaky devil :D
i guess a lot of us felt like old, weary souls when we were actually young. i recall that when i was 18 or 19, i felt like i had already experienced an entire lifetime’s worth of angst, and i wondered how i could survive until 30. almost wish i could go back in time and tell that naive 18-year-old a thing or two :P
p.s. sorry to hear you were ill! hope it happened only AFTER you got back from hong kong. and hopefully it won’t affect your impending krabi vacation! (though hmmmph, it would serve you right if it did … gallivanting across the region, having boatloads of fun, while the rest of us wallow in traffic jams) :D
@Sean: Sneaky devil? You must be thinking of my better half, certainly not angelic ol’ me…
Oh, I wouldn’t go back in time. Methinks the 17-year-old me and the 21-year-old me did have it rather bad. Life got much, much better after thirty. They certainly knew they weren’t having it as good as their 31-year-old self. Heh.
P.S. Unfortunately, nay. It happened the very night before my flight to HK. Ah well. I’ve been there before and I’ll be there again. (As early as middle of next year if nothing goes wrong, hehe.)
And no, it’s not gonna affect my second Krabi getaway of the year… I’m fully recovered and rarin’ to go! Woo-hoo!
so earnest, yes, and so emo, wow. rarely glimpsed that side of u. at least i know i’m not the temperamental one here hehe *hugs*
and so as i tweeted:
“#RTOTD – “Beauty, pleasure, and the good things of life are intensified, and perhaps only exist, by reason of contrast.” Walter J. Phillips”
:)
@Jun: Me, emo? Where got? Hehe. I was 21 years old ma… Weren’t we all liddat at twenty-one?
*hugs*
P.S. And you’re not emo either, my fave Malaysian-Australian doc – you’re quite simply amazing. Your letters, as posted on your blog, feature not just a heart worn easily on your sleeve (for better or for worse), but someone with soul. And that is hard to come by these hard, bitter days.
*hugs some more*
@rokh: Indeed. For how do we know how good is what we got, unless we’ve known what it feels like to have not?
Yikes. That sounds like a tweet too. Is it within 140 characters ar?
i wonder though: if the 31-year-old you currently feels that the 21-year-old you was a bit immature, what might the 41-year-old you eventually think of the 31-year-old you? i guess we’ll find out in 2020 :D
i’m turning 35 in almost a month, and strangely, it only just struck me today that it’ll be the midpoint of my 30s! exactly halfway between 30 and 40!
i recently re-watched season one of ‘thirtysomething,’ that great late-’80s tv drama about yuppies in their 30s. i remember first watching it when i was 15 or so, and even though i already loved the show then, i couldn’t empathize with the characters. i couldn’t even IMAGINE empathizing with them. and now…
p.s. yay, and u’re finally back, just in time for the year-end merry-making! and hopefully, sufficiently rejuvenated to confront another year of ups and downs. i’ve already started typing ’2011′ on some documents, and even though it doesn’t feel natural just yet, it’s getting there! :D
@Sean: Methinks the 41-year-old me would wonder why the 31-year-old me was working so hard, travelling so much, and not getting sufficiently appreciated for his pains. The 41-year-old me would probably tell the 31-year-old me to chill out, relax and reflect, and find a better, smarter way to live my life.
Hmm.
Methinks I “met” the 41-year-old me in Krabi recently, so at least that trip was worth the spontaneous last-minute decision (and consequently pricier bookings). Sweet.
35? That’s a milestone – now you have five more years (plus, since you’re not quite 35 yet) before you hit the Big Four-Oh, time to figure out what else you may wanna achieve and do. Woo-hoo!
‘Thirtysomething’? Hmm, are you trying to tell me you’re a yuppie? Hehe.
P.S. There will be downs, certainly, for life is not without them, but for now my eyes are brightly looking forward to a 2011 filled to the brim and overflowing with ups and wonders!
And why would you be typing ’2011′ on certain documents already? A sudden infestation of time-warp worm-holes?
the 31-old-year you is turning prematurely wise beyond his years! but i guess the trick will be in the implementation, so good luck with that. if you do discover the secret of living a contented life, let me know tooooo! :D
it’s sad to think that when i was 10 and reading ‘x-factor,’ scott summers already seemed at least 25. now he still seems 25, so i’m a decade older than him. and i haven’t even defeated ONE super-villain in my lifetime yet, pah. :P
when i turn 40, i want the waist size i had when i was 30, but a bank account size that tripled over the past 10 years.
i think i’m a guppie instead of a yuppie. gay instead of young :P
p.s. no lah, i’m writing documents, blog posts, letters, etc that are meant to be sent/unveiled next year. ermm, what do you mean nobody else does that kinda thing?! :P
@Sean: Ah, “implementation” – that accursed word! Aye, it’d be a challenge all right, but a worthy one, no?
Scott Summers. Oh the summers of my youth. I loved it when Whilce Portacio drew X-Factor, right at the end before they switched to the Alex Summers-led team, written by Peter David and drawn by Larry Stroman. Ah, the end of one era, and another begins…
(And I’m pretty sure you’ve defeated the villainous Demon of Cholesterol with your multi-egg-eating feats.)
Good luck with your 40th birthday goals – if you manage them, tell me HOW. Hehe.
P.S. Not me, certainly. But hmm, maybe I’m just lazy and not forward-looking?
your words move me to the bones.
they alight some sort of memory in my mind’s eye that I thought had faded past gone.
@Joy: Strange, isn’t it, what brings back the memories… and the light? May you be well always.