You ever get that feeling? You’re just minding your own business, going about your normal daily life, and then suddenly it hits you.
What am I doing?
Where am I going?
How is this action, no matter how insignificant or mundane, going to affect my future?
I don’t know if anyone else gets it, but it happens to me a lot. I might be texting someone, or making a cup of tea, or lying in my bed in the dark and staring at the ceiling thinking about absolutely nothing at all, and then all these thoughts suddenly rush into my mind. Oh God, what is happening? Why am I like this? Somewhere out there there’s a kid my age changing the world, and I’m here in my pyjamas crying over anime. I guess it could be a product of a strict Asian upbringing, or an antisocial, sedentary lifestyle, or just my anxiety coming back to haunt me as it always does. But I’ll talk about all of that another time.
The point is, I have a lot of thoughts, and it’s come to the point where I must set them free, cut my mind open and have them gush out of me onto some sort of medium. Journal writing just doesn’t cut it for me – my handwriting is notoriously appalling, and writing so much manually hurts my hand. I usually end up doodling in the margins, and then giving up because I can’t draw anyway (13 year old me, who spent all her allowance on Copic pens and how to draw manga books, would be sorely disappointed in her future self). And besides, what’s the point of writing if nobody else is gonna read it? I admit, I’ve always loved attention – that’s why I love to play piano, to perform on stage, to sing. Goddamnit, if I’m going to do anything, I’m going to make people watch me do it.
And so I blog.
I’m no stranger to the wonderful world of WordPress. I made my first account on this site when I was six (seriously, I went through my Gmail account to confirm this), so I could comment on Club Penguin blogs. Commenting on blogs led to making my own, the first of a long string of abandoned websites created by me. The first few were probably game related, and abandoned after I got bored of each game, but eventually preteen me decided that she wanted to tell people about herself as well as notify them of the location of each week’s Club Penguin pin. And so, under many, many personas, she began to weave an unintentional bildungsroman (that’s the first time I’ve used that word outside of an English essay, I promise) scattered over the Internet. The last blog I had lasted from roughly when I was 13 to just before I turned 16. I’ve always wanted to track down the URLs of all of these short-lived blogs and piece together my own story like some archaeologist would, but there’s just one small problem.
Just before I made this blog, I decided to trawl through my last one (it’s on private now, archived under a completely new URL). Maybe I could pick up from when I left off, I thought, instead of spreading my life out through even more spaces on the web. But as I read the posts, as I tried to take in all these painstakingly accurately described life events, I noticed something strange. Sure, I remembered all of these things happening. No matter how hard I try, I can’t erase the catastrophic parties from my memory. I can’t remove the aching pain of asking out my long time crush from my mind, nor can I forget about the friendship drama. Seriously, there was a lot. But when I read those posts describing them, the author didn’t seem like anybody I had ever known. She went by a different name (lol internet safety), she typed in a different way, and she felt emotions that I, sitting in this spinny chair at my desk typing this, couldn’t feel if I tried. There was a disconnect between us, the me now and the past me who sat in exactly the same chair at exactly the same desk. Something must have happened to divorce us so completely, yet I can’t think of what it could be. I’d like to think it was some sense of Maturity and Responsibility and Impending Adulthood that hit me sometime after I turned 16, but it’s probably just embarrassment.
So I started again from scratch. I put down the domain registration fee (hopefully it’ll spur me on to write more), I spent about half an hour trying to make this look nice and then I spent another hour scrolling through memes on Instagram trying to put off writing this post. I love writing, I really do. The best feeling in the world is looking at something you wrote, looking at the word count or the stack of paper and thinking Yeah. I made that. But writing like this, using my real name and my real voice and my real feelings is something I’ve never done before. I’ve always hidden behind a persona of sorts, another name that sounds better, another personality that sounds cooler and more popular and less anxious around cashiers. And now here I am, exposing myself to the world online, shouting into the void and hoping somebody hears. Writing another chapter of a long, long story.
This is what it’s like to be Mee-Mee. Stick around, won’t you?
Oh yeah, the name of this blog comes from an awesome piece of spoken word poetry called eight ball god. The line I prayed to the eight ball god and all I got was “try again later” always really resonated with me. I guess to me it symbolises the randomness of life, the chaos that makes this beautiful Earth go round and how it can’t be controlled or manipulated by anyone. As this blog is probably going to become yet another life journal/creative musings sort of thing, I felt it was fitting to name it after something describing the sheer unpredictability of life itself.
God, I’m pretentious, aren’t I?