Written largely in the darkness of the night

In a mild, pensive mood, where melancholy pervades the being. iTunes is playing all the right songs and the surroundings is sufficiently quiet to encourage reflection of a deeper kind. This is the moment when one realizes the search for one’s true self comes to fruition. You realize that this is the real you. For me, it’s this melancholic side: quiet, brooding.

People say that one’s real self comes to light when he or she is drunk; perhaps it’s true. There is the raucous drunk: the social butterfly who is the life of the party. There is the crying drunk: the one who is secretly depressed and filled with sadness. Then, there is the quiet drunk: slightly self-conscious even after imbibing alcohol, contemplative, reflective. It’s ironic how alcohol – the great remover of all inhibitions – should instill an even deeper sense of self-consciousness. Perhaps that’s why drinking has never really worked for me – I don’t get high, I don’t let loose; alcohol makes me more uptight; it fails even to perform its fundamental function as a relaxant. After I realized this a long time ago, I stopped drinking to escape, for there is no point.

Simply being yourself, to use the cliché, is easier said than done. It is not a conscious attempt to strive to be who you’re not – rather, it has more to do with a social obligation to appear friendly, cordial in order to gain the trust and acceptance of others. It is unfortunate that I have fallen into the trap as well, trying to be cheery, bubbly and talkative when I’m not. Sometimes it is simply to fill the silence, other times it’s because I know my pensiveness makes others uncomfortable.

Some find it hard to believe that behind all that intensity and hunger for success that I portray, is a serious, and brooding individual. I find no need to conform to the image that others have. I may vacillate between being outwardly cordial and prohibitively cold, and perhaps all of it is the real me. Sitting here, I make a silent resolution to keep doing what I’m doing, to keep pursuing what I want. But I will not lose myself to the outward appearances that are expected of me.

Melancholy – perhaps my favourite mood of all. Welcoming silence that is not overbearing, a steady stream of thoughts that are not overwhelming, and a controlled flow of emotions that are not overpowering. Clarity, the corollary of a melancholic mood, ensues.

A weekend filled with ups and downs, disappointment, contentment and ambivalence. The race season for this semester is almost at an end. As a team, we were punished for our complacency, disappointed not because we lost the prize, but rather, we were disappointed because we lost our pride. The team that has been unbeaten for countless of years, fell victim to complacency – it was a hard lesson, and a painful one. On a personal level though, it was a good race – no regrets, because I’ve pushed harder than I’ve ever done. I’ve delivered and perhaps surpassed expectations, I came from behind and cemented the spot in the top three, I’ve done all I can.

The weekend has been great at the same time, spending time with someone special; simple times but the best nonetheless. When someone slowly but surely cements their place in your life and in your heart, it scares you a little, but it’s a thoroughly lovely experience at the same time. Nothing beats falling in love over and over again with the same person, and having that special someone as the cornerstone of your life.

SuniG in two days. Being part of a team is a completely different undertaking – I used to race for myself, concerned with only my own performance. Perhaps racing for a team is inherently the same, and yet it carries along with it an added element of expectation. As a freshman, I entered the team with my reputation preceding me. I started off with pressure to perform riding on my back; I would like to think that I managed to deliver in my first year. One year on, I inherited a largely weakened girls’ team – deficient not only in numbers, but severely lacking in running ability. As we head into the most important race this semester, pressure is riding high. We lost narrowly last year, and the team is hungry to be double champions again. My racing season started off horribly this year, and only started to pick up over the last two months. Now, it’s as if the expectation and pressure is on me to transplant my personal showing into a solid performance for the team. At every training session, my interval splits are scrutinized closely, my teammates inquire anxiously about whether I’m improving on my swim times. Coach is seems to be trying to avoid putting pressure on me, but asks about the line up and performance of the girls each time.

After a dismal showing for most of this year, I made a couple of changes to my training regime. Adding more strength sessions, hitting higher intensities, shifting my diet to incorporate more protein. As a swimmer, there was a general aversion to a body fat percentage that is too low; the loss of buoyancy was simply too huge a disadvantage. But here I was, taking a stab in the dark and hoping it works out. Dropping the body fat percentage further than I should (from a swimmer’s perspective), and hoping that in 2 or 3 months, I wouldn’t be too lean for the water. My sights are set on the longer races next year, and I’m starting to put in the groundwork now.

Perhaps at the end of the day, racing for a team is essentially the same as racing as an individual, all I need to do know is fight off the expectations from others, and focus on my own. I will, and must, deliver again.

Missed seeing him tonight. SOMetimes I wished my time was in my complete control, I’m getting tired of working my way around other people’s schedule, and getting tired of having last-minute notices from people. I plan my time one entire week in advance, but it inevitably gets messed up, I try so hard, but I can’t seem to satisfy everyone.

I feel like I’m hitting a plateau at training, brick workout in the wee hours of the morning and my legs felt like they were chained to the ground. I’ve been surviving on 4 to 5 hours of sleep each night, trying to keep up with school work, while still making time for the people around me. Something at the back of my mind tells me I’m tired out, that I can’t keep training twice a day on minimal food and sleep. And yet I can’t stop myself from doing it, the type-A in me refuses to let go.

I could do with so much more time. I wish I could have been there with him tonight.