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[snortspepsi]

Beyond the Empty Bowl

The steam swirled around Sam's face, carrying with it the aroma of his infamous Buldak super-spicy sauce that he’d use to garnish his instant noodles with. A historically unfamiliar scent, but one that sparked his memory all the same. He was taken back to a time, nearly two decades past, when he’d take instant noodles to school for lunch. His mum was a great cook, all his friends would agree to that, but for the most part of his schooling days, he’d bring instant noodles for lunch. Was just easier for mum to make that for him apparently. He had taken that convenience to heart and now stood slurping his spicy noodles against the kitchen counter.

Back then, instant noodles were a symbol of joy, a shared experience that transcended differences. All the kids, with their carefully curated lunchboxes filled with exotic curries and vegetables, would trade envious glances for a taste of Sam's simple pleasure – Maggi, everybody loves Maggi.

But somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, the joy faded. The instant noodles became a crutch, a quick and easy solution in a life filled with complexities. They became a symbol of his isolation, a testament to his inability to cook, to nourish himself properly, to do what adults are supposed to do.

As the noodles slurped down his throat, the guilt gnawed at him. His mother, a full-time mum, had always provided him with delicious meals. He knew she didn't have it easy, juggling the demands of raising two children in a tumultuous household. Yet, he felt a simmering resentment, a sense of neglect that clouded his memories of her love.

He found himself at home in that neglect. Everyone around him deserved all, and he was to not ask for more. Warned only of the toxicities of the ego, he was never shown the language of self-love. He wore neglect like a comfortable cloak, believing everyone deserved more than him. He learned to nourish the world, leaving his own desires to starve – He cultivated a garden of compassion for all but himself.

Slurping through the spice, he wondered if it was fair to him. Was it fair to blame his parents for the burdens they themselves carried? Torn between compassion and criticism. Were they not victims of their circumstances, trapped in a loveless marriage, living a life they never chose?

His therapist's words echoed in his mind: "Depression can be funny sometimes. You got pretty sad once and never really fully recovered." Sam chuckled, a dark, self-deprecating laugh. He recognized his humor as a coping mechanism, a shield against the pain that threatened to engulf him. He couldn't even remember what hurt him so bad in the first place. He was a joke, a walking contradiction – a man who practiced compassion while harboring resentment, who dreamed of darkness while clinging to the faintest glimmer of hope.

Picking up his phone, scrolling through his Instagram feed in a trance: he knew he was bitter. He saw his friends building families, achieving successes, living lives that seemed normal, and a sense of fulfilment that eluded him. He saw himself, a lone island surrounded by a vast, indifferent ocean, the instant noodle packets on his empty table a testament to his isolation.

Anger bubbled up within him, a fiery mix of resentment and self-pity. Why did he strive for compassion, for gratitude, for unconditional love, when he felt so utterly neglected? Why did he dream of being a villain, of unleashing the darkness within, when all he ever did was try to be good?

He was split.

As more noodles slurped down his throat he began to think again. He was working on himself nowadays. He understood that this misery is just in his head. And life, despite everything, still has some sweetness in it. He reflected – He was eating better than before, the noodles were now just the carb base of his meals, he has learned to make more nutritious and filling meals now. Exercising, socialising, taking care of himself, he was doing what all was required of him to do for himself. He was taking control, making small but significant changes in his life. He was nurturing his body, seeking solace in therapy, and slowly shedding the victim's skin.

He was choosing to be the author of his story, not a character defined by someone else’s narrative.

He knew the road ahead would be long and arduous. The shadows are there to stay, whispering doubts and anxieties. But he was determined to dance with them, he would rise above the bitterness, the anger, the self-pity, find humor in the face of the void, and forge his own meaning in a world devoid of inherent purpose. He was daring to build a life that wasn't just good, but meaningful, fulfilling, and truly his own.

As he pushed away the empty bowl, a strange calm settled over him. He was no longer a victim, but a participant in this grand, cosmic joke. He would need to remind himself of this every now and then of course – this is a journey of reclamation. He was ready to write a new chapter, a chapter where the protagonist wasn't just a victim, but a survivor, a warrior who emerged from the darkness, stronger and more resilient, ready to face the world with open arms, and a heart that, despite the scars, still dared to hope.

And maybe, just maybe, he would finally learn to make his own damn lunch.

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I only watch hentai because human porn reminds me of people I know.

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For someone who reads so many books, I sure as hell suck at reading the room.

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Sometimes there are deep insightful thoughts. And then there are times when you try to write something.

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I got so caught up in giving you your space, that I had forgotten to make room for myself.

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Life’s better when nobody knows anything about you.

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A threat to my allies.

A sanctuary to my foes.

I feel human.

I feel like divine intervention.

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*MBA404 Customer Behaviour and Marketing Psychology*

A Market Oriented Company or Firm is a business entity that operates with a philosophical focus on customer centric communication.

*omg same*

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I’ve grown into quite a cautionary tale.

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Goals lmfao

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*chased by an angry orgy of gay guys* Wrath of the Homo-Erectus!

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Reminder

Every once in a while I remind myself: “I’m a human”.

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Electronic Heart

The years have made my heart quite electronic by now, probably not as smart though. And just like the devices around me right now, I too am burning myself to the last bar, quietly hoping there's a cable nearby for when I really need it.

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A Good Man

“You’re a good man”

- Bran the Broken

What makes a man good?

Three times in the past week did I have someone call me out for being either a pushover, a bitch, or better yet: a simp. The last one’s been used for me quite a few times and I’ve grown pretty accustomed to that; it was only the last instance that made me put my thoughts into words.

“why would you say that?”

I will be diving into all of the three times when I came across such a sentiment. I just hope all of this makes sense when I’m done writing, as for now I only wish to write and not make sense if at all impossible.

My bestfriend/roommate calling me a bitch over a joint

He does that pretty often, and it mostly revolves around how I present myself to the women in our circle. Despite being a man of my stature (both physically and intellectually) I like to act aloof and am always willing to roll-over for my friends. This has at times gotten me into situations where I get verbally abused by the very female friends who would hold their tongues if it were any other man from their lives.

I don’t mind this one bit! It only means that my female friends feel safe with me. Safe enough to act and treat men the way they want without having to worry about any form of abusive retaliation.

Or perhaps my friend is right, and they do see me as a bitch without regard.

Hmmm

My old schoolmates calling me a simp

It was the birthday of one of my oldest friends (lets call him M1) last week, and the two of us decided to call our friends from our highschool days. Its been 6 years since we’d graduated, but I guess there’s no better time to call old friends, than over a drink thousands of miles away.

The time zones weren’t kind to us and we only managed to contact one of our friends (M2), but it’s fine because I personally liked this one for his calm and collected demeanor.

We caught up after months, if not years, of no communication. As it turns out M2’s fresh out of a relationship. Further probing revealed that he was actually in that relationship over 2 years ago, and since then has been maintaining a “friendship” with his ex. No strings attached. 

M1 wouldn’t have any of this weakness. He called, both M2 and me, out as simps and pushovers. 

“You’ve got to be the alpha in the relationship! Don’t take any shit! And let her know what you want, else she can beat it!”, M1 said.

He loved her, and still does. But is willing to not act on it because she doesn’t want him. And so he has taken the Black and is giving her the space she asked for.

M2 said, “I can’t change what has happened. Nor can I change how I feel about her. I’m nobody to go against her wishes.”

But what about what you want?

My first and only flame calling me a good man

She’s back in town after a couple of months away. And I couldn’t have been more excited to see anybody.

It’s already been over 6 months since we’ve broken up and she’s moved on quite happily. I’d rather not comment on this because I’m still here writing this piece.

We were going up an elevator when I thought about sparking some of that old fire that we had between us. I held her close, moving in for a kiss: but she cheerily refused my advances and so I settled for a kiss on her forehead.

She smiled and so did I.

I said that there was a time when a kiss was as ordinary between us as holding hands. She said “yeah, but the times have changed”.

I was a bit flushed by this change of dynamic and wished if only I was a bit more dominant in my advances. A little more expressive of my feelings. A little more manly for her to accept my love.

She used to love my confident self.

She said that I was a good man. 

I asked why’d she say that.

She said that I’m not like the other men in her life: who’d push their expressions onto their partners, irrespective of any laid boundaries. 

“They do whatever they want and their relationships never last.”

Ours didn’t last even a year babe. Was I really a good man to you then?

I know it’s not right of me to even think of it like this, but her calling me a good man felt more like an attack than an appreciation of my character. 

“A good man will always get what he deserves. All you gotta do is wait for the right person.”

I waited 23 years for you. I loved you from the very first moment I laid my eyes on you. Never had I ever felt anything like what I felt with you. I did everything in my power to be a good man for you. There were many times when I fell horribly short. And I would agree in saying that you deserve someone better.

But now you’re calling me a good man. After everything’s done and dusted. When I can’t reach out to you the way I would’ve wanted to.

I’m a good man for not making any demands, but instead meeting yours. I’m a good man for not pushing on any of the boundaries, while you left me for someone who would. I am a good man for you when I’m at a distance, not when I was close. 

All I can get out of this is: 

Stop rolling over for people, no matter how close they are to you.

Your wishes mean more than anybody else’s

And if you’re no longer a good man for loving yourself, then fuck that!

[snortspepsi]

Desperate times call for desperate measures...