A Different Kind of Hate
My shoulder hurts.
I don't know why. Probably something to do with a muscle cramp. Happened when I was washing the car today (or rather most normal people would refer to as YESTERDAY).
Anyway, here's something to read.
~~~
Maybe I'm just stupid.
Maybe I'm just brainless.
Maybe I'm just deaf.
Maybe I'm just ignorant.
Maybe I'm just a pain in the neck and in your pocket that you so wish to get rid of.
Maybe I'm just
Something you hate.
---
He closed his ears.
He couldn't bear it.
Yet, he wanted to know more.
So he allowed them to be open.
The amount of words the flowed through the slits of his door could not be expressed by his limited understanding of words.
But he knew one thing.
He didn't like it.
He was hurt by it.
He was hurt, knowing who those words were meant for, who those words were directed to, and who those words were being thrown at.
He... Hated it.
But what was he to do? He was only that much of a difference in the world. The amount of power he had was only that much. He couldn't change anything for the better. At least, not by his own power. And he didn't know how to tap into the divine power that was given to him.
Relying on his ownself was all he could do. He took in the hurt. He bit his lips till they almost bled. He wiped the tears away.
He covered the scars on his soul.
Year after year, nothing seemed to change.
One day, he brought home a plaque signifying the recognition of the final year of his teenage study life. On it was engraved - Best Student. He was proud. It had been his dream to one day hold that plaque the moment he understood what it meant way back when he was 7. He knew it meant that the bearer was recognised as the best student in the whole form. He wanted it. And finally during the final year of his school life, it is his. It wasn't in his goal to get it. He had just dreamed of it and wanted it, without any hopes of getting it, what with his above average results, compared to those who had perfect scores.
He displayed it on the desk in the living room, right next to the machine that displayed moving lights.
Yet, what difference did it make?
Nothing.
His mother was overjoyed when she saw it. He knew that secretly, she too had been hoping he would get it, and had hidden tears of joy when the news was out.
So was his grandmother, who congratulated him so much over the phone.
To the man of the house?
It was in the way.
Ever since then, the plaque was moved into his room. It still sits there, and ever so often, he would look at it, smile, and clean it. It meant a lot to him, and he was still proud of it.
It was in the way.
------
It was happening again.
This time, he had grown. Into a young man. 3 years had passed since the incident. He learned how to keep his ears wide open, and yet cover his reactions and emotions, that it seemed as if...
As if he was deaf.
As the man of the house put it - "He is deaf. He can't hear a thing. He is deaf I tell you. There's no use talking to him."
To prove his point, he remained, watching the display of moving lights, unmoven by the sounds and voices his mother and the man of the house were making. Every single word was heard. Every single word was understood.
Every single word did not fall on deaf ears.
Yet, he was deaf. Deaf to all that was happening around him. His eyes only looked on at the colourful display of lights.
It had been that way for a long time. He had trained himself to be deaf. Deaf by his body.
Yet, it did not mean he was deaf by the ears. He heard, understood and knew every single thing that was said around him. It pained him and hurt him. It tore open old wounds and made new ones on his soul.
Every single day.
Every single day.
He knew he had a purpose in life. He knew what he needed to do. He knew that the events happening around him since the day his darling little sister was born was not without a reason.
He bore all the feeling of guilt and helplessness. He kept within, all the anger, sadness and hurt.
Hiding it all, behind a mask.
A mask that was deaf.
Some people wonder why he wears that mask. Some people wonder why won't he show his real face.
Only those who have been in his place and felt what he has felt would truly understand why he hides everything under the mask.
It was a mask he felt uncomfortable in. It was a mask he did not like.
It was a mask he hated.
Yet what choice did he have? He could either wear the mask and be strong when people needed help.
Or he could take it off, break down at the worst possible moments.
And be blamed for looking at things the way he does.
Because he did not look at his surroundings and see the friends that cared for him.
Because he did not see that there was love for him.
Because...
Because of the different person behind the mask.
"Why do you ask was I bound and chained to this cold and dreadful place? Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!" - Down Once More, The Phantom of the Opera.
He tried. People told him to. He tried.
"Let people like you for who you are, not for who you pretend to be." - Unknown Author.
But they did not like it.
Conciously or unconciously, he did not know. But he was told time and again, that he was wrong. That he was wrong. That things shouldn't be looked at that way. That it was his fault.
That he was to blame for his own unbecomings.
What choice did he have?
With his mask, he was told to take it off. To let people see his true face.
With it off, they disliked him. It was his fault. He was to blame.
"The world showed no compassion to me!" - Point of No Return, The Phantom of the Opera.
Without a word more, he donned back his mask.
And yet, those who questioned his motives for wearing the mask still could not comprehend why he did not take it off.
He did not explain.
The words that continue to echo through his mind were enough to tell him not to take it off ever again, unless absolutely necessary.
He would rather be accepted as a person who could not be understood, than to not be accepted when he was.
Day after day, his wounds continue to bleed. His soul tormented with the pain.
Yet he pressed on, wiping himself with the occasional words of edification that his caring friends would give.
They were wounds that no one would understand. They were burdens that no other mortal was meant to carry.
At least, he never found one.
His strength grew weary. His body broken under the strain of the burden he carried. Yet, he continued to accept the burden of others and helped them carry theirs. It pleased him and warmed his heart whenever he was allowed to.
Ah, what a life to lead. To be born from humble beginnings, to be one who takes upon the burden of others even when his own is too much for himself to bear.
Driven by the strength from the love his mother, grandmother, and his friends. Pushed on by the purpose he had to fulfill.
Torn every day, by the man of the house.
In a bloody bath, his soul continues to live...
~~~The Person Behind the Mask - Unknown Author~~~
~~~
If you know who wrote that, I swear (figure of speech) you've got to be reading too much. I found it rather... Interesting. (There's my blog for today, HAH! *gets bricked by CSY*)
Anyway, I've rubbed some ointment on my shoulder. It's eased the pain (doensn't hurt anymore when I'm just sitting down trying to relax), but it's still there. Hurted (pun intended) like heck. Oh well, shows I'm growing old.
Oh, and I lost 7 KGs. I was 78KG, and I'm not 71KG. Talk about extreme weight loss. Well, can't say much since I haven't exactly been eating a healthy diet even (no breakfast no lunch, just a heavy dinner and lots of midnight snacks if I can find any). But the weight loss... I don't know if it's worth it. I can SEE the difference. Now that's scary.
Anyway, for those of you who comment on this blog,
I #### (bleh) you.
You write comments on my blog and make me cry.
I'm a guy, I shouldn't be crying so often.
I #### (gosturfunklepic) you.
Thanks for the comments anyway. I really appreciate them. And for those of you who DON'T comment... Well... If you're reading this... Well...
I #### (blah) you too.
Cuz I don't know you're reading this at all! C'mon, show me you're still alive! Well... I might #### (blargo) you for leaving comments and making me cry... But that's a different story!
And for CSY -
*Bites you. Heck, licks you too as well for luck*
Goodnight.
God, I have NO idea why You suddenly asked me to kneel down and pray while washing my car. On the spot too! In the middle of my garden while the water's running and my car's halfway washed! Couldn't You have picked a better time...? (Well Your timing is always supposed to be perfect so I can't argue at that -__-) Either ways, I hope Alex is doing well. My mom would understand what's going on if she reads this. She's going to his house tomorrow. I hope he's fine. For whatever reason I was suddenly asked to pray like that, I pray that he's ok too. Not everyday I suddenly go on my knees and start praying.
God, that's scary -_-;;
Goodnight God.
Note : This post has been edited due to some... well... unexplainable reasons. -_-;;
I don't know why. Probably something to do with a muscle cramp. Happened when I was washing the car today (or rather most normal people would refer to as YESTERDAY).
Anyway, here's something to read.
~~~
Maybe I'm just stupid.
Maybe I'm just brainless.
Maybe I'm just deaf.
Maybe I'm just ignorant.
Maybe I'm just a pain in the neck and in your pocket that you so wish to get rid of.
Maybe I'm just
Something you hate.
---
He closed his ears.
He couldn't bear it.
Yet, he wanted to know more.
So he allowed them to be open.
The amount of words the flowed through the slits of his door could not be expressed by his limited understanding of words.
But he knew one thing.
He didn't like it.
He was hurt by it.
He was hurt, knowing who those words were meant for, who those words were directed to, and who those words were being thrown at.
He... Hated it.
But what was he to do? He was only that much of a difference in the world. The amount of power he had was only that much. He couldn't change anything for the better. At least, not by his own power. And he didn't know how to tap into the divine power that was given to him.
Relying on his ownself was all he could do. He took in the hurt. He bit his lips till they almost bled. He wiped the tears away.
He covered the scars on his soul.
Year after year, nothing seemed to change.
One day, he brought home a plaque signifying the recognition of the final year of his teenage study life. On it was engraved - Best Student. He was proud. It had been his dream to one day hold that plaque the moment he understood what it meant way back when he was 7. He knew it meant that the bearer was recognised as the best student in the whole form. He wanted it. And finally during the final year of his school life, it is his. It wasn't in his goal to get it. He had just dreamed of it and wanted it, without any hopes of getting it, what with his above average results, compared to those who had perfect scores.
He displayed it on the desk in the living room, right next to the machine that displayed moving lights.
Yet, what difference did it make?
Nothing.
His mother was overjoyed when she saw it. He knew that secretly, she too had been hoping he would get it, and had hidden tears of joy when the news was out.
So was his grandmother, who congratulated him so much over the phone.
To the man of the house?
It was in the way.
Ever since then, the plaque was moved into his room. It still sits there, and ever so often, he would look at it, smile, and clean it. It meant a lot to him, and he was still proud of it.
It was in the way.
------
It was happening again.
This time, he had grown. Into a young man. 3 years had passed since the incident. He learned how to keep his ears wide open, and yet cover his reactions and emotions, that it seemed as if...
As if he was deaf.
As the man of the house put it - "He is deaf. He can't hear a thing. He is deaf I tell you. There's no use talking to him."
To prove his point, he remained, watching the display of moving lights, unmoven by the sounds and voices his mother and the man of the house were making. Every single word was heard. Every single word was understood.
Every single word did not fall on deaf ears.
Yet, he was deaf. Deaf to all that was happening around him. His eyes only looked on at the colourful display of lights.
It had been that way for a long time. He had trained himself to be deaf. Deaf by his body.
Yet, it did not mean he was deaf by the ears. He heard, understood and knew every single thing that was said around him. It pained him and hurt him. It tore open old wounds and made new ones on his soul.
Every single day.
Every single day.
He knew he had a purpose in life. He knew what he needed to do. He knew that the events happening around him since the day his darling little sister was born was not without a reason.
He bore all the feeling of guilt and helplessness. He kept within, all the anger, sadness and hurt.
Hiding it all, behind a mask.
A mask that was deaf.
Some people wonder why he wears that mask. Some people wonder why won't he show his real face.
Only those who have been in his place and felt what he has felt would truly understand why he hides everything under the mask.
It was a mask he felt uncomfortable in. It was a mask he did not like.
It was a mask he hated.
Yet what choice did he have? He could either wear the mask and be strong when people needed help.
Or he could take it off, break down at the worst possible moments.
And be blamed for looking at things the way he does.
Because he did not look at his surroundings and see the friends that cared for him.
Because he did not see that there was love for him.
Because...
Because of the different person behind the mask.
"Why do you ask was I bound and chained to this cold and dreadful place? Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!" - Down Once More, The Phantom of the Opera.
He tried. People told him to. He tried.
"Let people like you for who you are, not for who you pretend to be." - Unknown Author.
But they did not like it.
Conciously or unconciously, he did not know. But he was told time and again, that he was wrong. That he was wrong. That things shouldn't be looked at that way. That it was his fault.
That he was to blame for his own unbecomings.
What choice did he have?
With his mask, he was told to take it off. To let people see his true face.
With it off, they disliked him. It was his fault. He was to blame.
"The world showed no compassion to me!" - Point of No Return, The Phantom of the Opera.
Without a word more, he donned back his mask.
And yet, those who questioned his motives for wearing the mask still could not comprehend why he did not take it off.
He did not explain.
The words that continue to echo through his mind were enough to tell him not to take it off ever again, unless absolutely necessary.
He would rather be accepted as a person who could not be understood, than to not be accepted when he was.
Day after day, his wounds continue to bleed. His soul tormented with the pain.
Yet he pressed on, wiping himself with the occasional words of edification that his caring friends would give.
They were wounds that no one would understand. They were burdens that no other mortal was meant to carry.
At least, he never found one.
His strength grew weary. His body broken under the strain of the burden he carried. Yet, he continued to accept the burden of others and helped them carry theirs. It pleased him and warmed his heart whenever he was allowed to.
Ah, what a life to lead. To be born from humble beginnings, to be one who takes upon the burden of others even when his own is too much for himself to bear.
Driven by the strength from the love his mother, grandmother, and his friends. Pushed on by the purpose he had to fulfill.
Torn every day, by the man of the house.
In a bloody bath, his soul continues to live...
~~~The Person Behind the Mask - Unknown Author~~~
~~~
If you know who wrote that, I swear (figure of speech) you've got to be reading too much. I found it rather... Interesting. (There's my blog for today, HAH! *gets bricked by CSY*)
Anyway, I've rubbed some ointment on my shoulder. It's eased the pain (doensn't hurt anymore when I'm just sitting down trying to relax), but it's still there. Hurted (pun intended) like heck. Oh well, shows I'm growing old.
Oh, and I lost 7 KGs. I was 78KG, and I'm not 71KG. Talk about extreme weight loss. Well, can't say much since I haven't exactly been eating a healthy diet even (no breakfast no lunch, just a heavy dinner and lots of midnight snacks if I can find any). But the weight loss... I don't know if it's worth it. I can SEE the difference. Now that's scary.
Anyway, for those of you who comment on this blog,
I #### (bleh) you.
You write comments on my blog and make me cry.
I'm a guy, I shouldn't be crying so often.
I #### (gosturfunklepic) you.
Thanks for the comments anyway. I really appreciate them. And for those of you who DON'T comment... Well... If you're reading this... Well...
I #### (blah) you too.
Cuz I don't know you're reading this at all! C'mon, show me you're still alive! Well... I might #### (blargo) you for leaving comments and making me cry... But that's a different story!
And for CSY -
*Bites you. Heck, licks you too as well for luck*
Goodnight.
God, I have NO idea why You suddenly asked me to kneel down and pray while washing my car. On the spot too! In the middle of my garden while the water's running and my car's halfway washed! Couldn't You have picked a better time...? (Well Your timing is always supposed to be perfect so I can't argue at that -__-) Either ways, I hope Alex is doing well. My mom would understand what's going on if she reads this. She's going to his house tomorrow. I hope he's fine. For whatever reason I was suddenly asked to pray like that, I pray that he's ok too. Not everyday I suddenly go on my knees and start praying.
God, that's scary -_-;;
Goodnight God.
Note : This post has been edited due to some... well... unexplainable reasons. -_-;;
posted by Liil Masks at 10:32 am
1 Comments:
Yes son, I know what you mean. I understand how you feel.
I'm glad you responded to the HS prompting. Continue to listen and be sensitive to His leading. Me too have been emotional Thurs & Friday with regards to a one line prayer that came to thought on Alex. But I guess dramatic actions are best left to dramatic people like you....all I do is....cry lor!
There's a purpose to all these hurting you're experiencing. That night I was hurting with you and praying for you.
I don't know what and it's for you to seek Him but I do believe that it's to do with His plans for you. You are set apart for Him and this 'training' is necessary. Remember that He has allowed it and He is with you all the way. He hurts with you and He has and will never let go of you through it all!
For now - wear the mask if you need, to get you through each day. But in His presence, the mask must come off. Completely! How else can you see him face to face? How else can you come into His presence.
My prayer for you and Sarah is that the both of you will love Him ABOVE ALL.
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