And so I'm back. And it seems that this has become a venting place for frustrations.
But just how could one be so unappreciative?
So unloving?
So shallow and distasteful,
So much care for the worldly and glorious praise,
So little for true thoughtfulness.
It baffles me.
It hurts me.
These inflictions are way more than skin deep.
It is the message, the intention held behind a simple action of disinterest, and wayward priorities.
A message that whips,
a message that scars.
I choose not to be the same.
I forcibly decide on a character far different.
And strive toward better.
For it is far from a shining example.
And yet, with all attempted positivity,
the stings and lashes remain.
Because how can one truly accept?
Such disdain, such disapproval,
despite an intentional attempt to please.
Moreover over something so petty,
So childish.
So superficial.
So temporal.
So ungrateful.
Thursday, 23 June 2016
Sunday, 6 March 2016
Unreasonable.
Unreasonable, my tears do they come?
It was as if your words were daggers striking my heart.
When practicality and unfortunate circumstances triumph all longing and want,
Anticipation crushed, traces of what feels like disappointment, almost betrayal.
Nonchalant apologies, spurred anger and pure frustration
For what of my stay here, if not for love and desire?
Emotions blaring, yet attempting to be forgiving,
It's funny how something that seems so insignificant
Causes the heart the pain and to refuse further contact and amends.
It was as if your words were daggers striking my heart.
When practicality and unfortunate circumstances triumph all longing and want,
Anticipation crushed, traces of what feels like disappointment, almost betrayal.
Nonchalant apologies, spurred anger and pure frustration
For what of my stay here, if not for love and desire?
Emotions blaring, yet attempting to be forgiving,
It's funny how something that seems so insignificant
Causes the heart the pain and to refuse further contact and amends.
Wednesday, 10 February 2016
This Rhythmic (or lack thereof) Journey.
It's been awhile. It always has, seeing as I have very little dedication to this blog. Much less than I have towards many other things in life, despite my bold proclamation of love for writing. But I suppose this may be lovely to look back to, years ahead, wherever I may be, whatever predicament or social condition I may be in.
So where to start? It seems that I haven't documented much of my musical journey, and today I feel particularly chatty. (And wide awake, even though it's 12.10 a.m. Blame my spontaneous attempt at chocolate mud-cake, I'm as stuffed as a pot-bellied pig!) I ramble. So looking back, at where I started, and looking forward at what's to come, this still feels surreal. I still remember enjoying (to an extent) Yamaha classes I used to take as a child. Solfege was fun, came easy to me (Again, to an extent). Piano lessons took it's darker turn when I got a particular teacher that particular year when I had to take 2 particular exams. I believe I was 7? 8? Both ABRSM and Yamaha at once was tough for a kid. Things didn't get any better as Yamaha was dropped and ABRSM was continued. (Without me having any say, mind you!) Classes got more stressful, and I dreaded every Tuesday (?). Theory was just pfffft. Many times over did I want to stop. Hated sight reading, hated scales, hated learning songs I could barely read. I can barely remember when I started to get the idea that I wanted to do it for the rest of my life, no thanks to classical ABRSM syllabus! Church spurred that, a lot. Playing more freely, with chords I could interpret in my own melodic and rhythmic way, lit a bulb in me that no classical piece ever could. Working with a band built that confidence more, in a way I never really understood. Perhaps I came to see the beauty of music as a whole, a song as an entire piece, but yet being able to analyse every small part. Controlling band dynamics, with the build ups and drops and transitions, and flowing, everything was just a masterpiece if done correctly. Placing myself in the P.A. System department of the prefectorial board was another push. Not a regret at all. Learning protocols, show procedure, amateur skills in handling an amateur mixer, coiling cables over and over again, stage management. It was as if I enjoyed the stress, perhaps due to the very rewarding satisfaction at the end of it all. When I turned down higher posts for a choice to retain in the P.A. Board, they asked me why. Of course it was partly bullshit, but it was something along the lines of "I want to do music in the future, so I want to be able to extend my ability in the field of mixing/understanding how sound works." They laughed, saying something like "Oh you nak jadi rock star ke?", but I didn't care. What if I did? What was so funny about that?
Which brings us to present day. It has been 2 semesters past in ICOM already. Everything seems to have passed so quickly, like it was just yesterday that I set foot in to register. And now I spend almost every waking hour in that place, learning, practicing, wasting my time, laughing, loving. But then again, I have seen a major growth that I never expected. If you ever told that young classical pianist (could I REALLY even consider myself one then?) at the age of 13/14 that she was one day going to actively practice technicals and scales on her own accord because she wanted to improve, she would have probably told you to piss off. Yes, I still do insist that I don't have enough time, which is true. I'm still very much under-accomplished as a performer for a 3rd Sem student. I still want more time that I can't have before stepping foot any further. But it's my last sem, and I suppose I have to make do with what I have. An audition in June, and a possible goodbye for 2 and a half years in August. Short though the time here I've been, I've gone through so much. So many opportunities came by me that I could never have imagined. From singing for FP on the first week of college, to open mics, Penang Jazz, Snarky Puppy, watching gig after gig, getting recognition as a writer, showband opportunities and now produced as a writer for my very own EP, I count myself extremely blessed. For the chances I've been given, for the friends I've made, for the people I've come to love and appreciate. Though week after week, it really isn't easy, but I've come to make do. Coming from the tired, stressed out girl in Sem 1 who used to sleep on the 2nd Floor tables, to accepting what I have to do and giving myself more space and time to prioritise my work, it's not over yet but I'm glad I've made it this far.
Looking into the near future, so many exciting opportunities await. I can't believe it, it was not that long ago I was still dreaming of entering ICOM, and soon I'll be leaving it. Then, Berklee. BERKLEE. It indeed still seems so surreal. So what will it be, Songwriting, Film Scoring or CWP? It is a choice I still find hard to make. Perhaps one day when I look back at this blog post I may laugh at my indecisiveness. Or perhaps I may look back and still wonder if I've made the right choice. Who knows? All I know is, excitement awaits in August, but also unwillingness to let go. Bittersweet it will be. But for now, let that be a bridge we cross when we get there, and let this bottled up excitement be for what a huge project my EP is becoming.
Until Again,
Lyanne Low.
So where to start? It seems that I haven't documented much of my musical journey, and today I feel particularly chatty. (And wide awake, even though it's 12.10 a.m. Blame my spontaneous attempt at chocolate mud-cake, I'm as stuffed as a pot-bellied pig!) I ramble. So looking back, at where I started, and looking forward at what's to come, this still feels surreal. I still remember enjoying (to an extent) Yamaha classes I used to take as a child. Solfege was fun, came easy to me (Again, to an extent). Piano lessons took it's darker turn when I got a particular teacher that particular year when I had to take 2 particular exams. I believe I was 7? 8? Both ABRSM and Yamaha at once was tough for a kid. Things didn't get any better as Yamaha was dropped and ABRSM was continued. (Without me having any say, mind you!) Classes got more stressful, and I dreaded every Tuesday (?). Theory was just pfffft. Many times over did I want to stop. Hated sight reading, hated scales, hated learning songs I could barely read. I can barely remember when I started to get the idea that I wanted to do it for the rest of my life, no thanks to classical ABRSM syllabus! Church spurred that, a lot. Playing more freely, with chords I could interpret in my own melodic and rhythmic way, lit a bulb in me that no classical piece ever could. Working with a band built that confidence more, in a way I never really understood. Perhaps I came to see the beauty of music as a whole, a song as an entire piece, but yet being able to analyse every small part. Controlling band dynamics, with the build ups and drops and transitions, and flowing, everything was just a masterpiece if done correctly. Placing myself in the P.A. System department of the prefectorial board was another push. Not a regret at all. Learning protocols, show procedure, amateur skills in handling an amateur mixer, coiling cables over and over again, stage management. It was as if I enjoyed the stress, perhaps due to the very rewarding satisfaction at the end of it all. When I turned down higher posts for a choice to retain in the P.A. Board, they asked me why. Of course it was partly bullshit, but it was something along the lines of "I want to do music in the future, so I want to be able to extend my ability in the field of mixing/understanding how sound works." They laughed, saying something like "Oh you nak jadi rock star ke?", but I didn't care. What if I did? What was so funny about that?
Which brings us to present day. It has been 2 semesters past in ICOM already. Everything seems to have passed so quickly, like it was just yesterday that I set foot in to register. And now I spend almost every waking hour in that place, learning, practicing, wasting my time, laughing, loving. But then again, I have seen a major growth that I never expected. If you ever told that young classical pianist (could I REALLY even consider myself one then?) at the age of 13/14 that she was one day going to actively practice technicals and scales on her own accord because she wanted to improve, she would have probably told you to piss off. Yes, I still do insist that I don't have enough time, which is true. I'm still very much under-accomplished as a performer for a 3rd Sem student. I still want more time that I can't have before stepping foot any further. But it's my last sem, and I suppose I have to make do with what I have. An audition in June, and a possible goodbye for 2 and a half years in August. Short though the time here I've been, I've gone through so much. So many opportunities came by me that I could never have imagined. From singing for FP on the first week of college, to open mics, Penang Jazz, Snarky Puppy, watching gig after gig, getting recognition as a writer, showband opportunities and now produced as a writer for my very own EP, I count myself extremely blessed. For the chances I've been given, for the friends I've made, for the people I've come to love and appreciate. Though week after week, it really isn't easy, but I've come to make do. Coming from the tired, stressed out girl in Sem 1 who used to sleep on the 2nd Floor tables, to accepting what I have to do and giving myself more space and time to prioritise my work, it's not over yet but I'm glad I've made it this far.
Looking into the near future, so many exciting opportunities await. I can't believe it, it was not that long ago I was still dreaming of entering ICOM, and soon I'll be leaving it. Then, Berklee. BERKLEE. It indeed still seems so surreal. So what will it be, Songwriting, Film Scoring or CWP? It is a choice I still find hard to make. Perhaps one day when I look back at this blog post I may laugh at my indecisiveness. Or perhaps I may look back and still wonder if I've made the right choice. Who knows? All I know is, excitement awaits in August, but also unwillingness to let go. Bittersweet it will be. But for now, let that be a bridge we cross when we get there, and let this bottled up excitement be for what a huge project my EP is becoming.
Until Again,
Lyanne Low.
Friday, 18 December 2015
Why?
Tears, why do you soak my pillows so?
Cascading down my cheeks in the dark,
This begotten hour.
Yet lightly they do not come,
For the hope is strong, though the risks are high.
Heart, why do you doubt, why do you fear?
The count of days have barely begun,
Yet dread already lurks in the darkness.
Love, dare I say, dare I proclaim.
Let it be spilt, let it be known.
For in you I see forever,
though the odds seem never in our favour.
My love, my darling,
Words I have yet to speak.
Though I weep, though I fear,
I stand firm in what I have decided.
For how do you deny something so natural?
Sleep, may it take me.
For this night has had too many an hour.
Falling into its gentle abyss,
Cloak me with its soft lull.
Into its comfort, forgotten is the pain.
Cascading down my cheeks in the dark,
This begotten hour.
Yet lightly they do not come,
For the hope is strong, though the risks are high.
Heart, why do you doubt, why do you fear?
The count of days have barely begun,
Yet dread already lurks in the darkness.
Love, dare I say, dare I proclaim.
Let it be spilt, let it be known.
For in you I see forever,
though the odds seem never in our favour.
My love, my darling,
Words I have yet to speak.
Though I weep, though I fear,
I stand firm in what I have decided.
For how do you deny something so natural?
Sleep, may it take me.
For this night has had too many an hour.
Falling into its gentle abyss,
Cloak me with its soft lull.
Into its comfort, forgotten is the pain.
Thursday, 17 December 2015
I Wish.
I knew it. Could see it coming. How could I have such a long run of happiness and joy without anything messing me up? It isn't like me. It was weird. Way too strange.
But where do pent up emotions go? The frustrations of almost 10 years, rapidly growing sick and tired of the bullshit I have to endure. Nothing has changed, nothing at all. Why are my opinions only necessary and needed when you want them? When all of you want them? I wish I could help. I do. I wished we didn't have to pointlessly spend 3 hours trying to figure out what was wrong. I wish. And I could. But there was no chance.
Stubbornness. Denial.
Stupidity and immaturity can be taught, can be cured. But how do you cure stubbornness, for those in refusal to accept or even attempt the suggestions given? How can the place, the people that are supposed to bring me peace be the only ones to repeatedly push me off the edge? This is not sanctuary. This is hell.
I wish I could talk. I wish I could vent. But I wish not to be a pain nor a burden.
What have I gotten you into? A train wreck of emotions? I wish you didn't know. But then again, I wish you do, the least I could do is let you know who exactly, WHAT exactly I am.
Contradictions, yet all true.
So I toss and I turn. Afraid, angry. I will free myself. Because beneath the beautiful, there is hurt, there is pain.
But where do pent up emotions go? The frustrations of almost 10 years, rapidly growing sick and tired of the bullshit I have to endure. Nothing has changed, nothing at all. Why are my opinions only necessary and needed when you want them? When all of you want them? I wish I could help. I do. I wished we didn't have to pointlessly spend 3 hours trying to figure out what was wrong. I wish. And I could. But there was no chance.
Stubbornness. Denial.
Stupidity and immaturity can be taught, can be cured. But how do you cure stubbornness, for those in refusal to accept or even attempt the suggestions given? How can the place, the people that are supposed to bring me peace be the only ones to repeatedly push me off the edge? This is not sanctuary. This is hell.
I wish I could talk. I wish I could vent. But I wish not to be a pain nor a burden.
What have I gotten you into? A train wreck of emotions? I wish you didn't know. But then again, I wish you do, the least I could do is let you know who exactly, WHAT exactly I am.
Contradictions, yet all true.
So I toss and I turn. Afraid, angry. I will free myself. Because beneath the beautiful, there is hurt, there is pain.
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
Bliss.
Yes, I do like the Nestle yoghurt drink with the same name quite abit too, but that isn't exactly what I was referring to.
It's been awhile. For many good reasons. I was beginning to think I entirely lost my ability to write for fun. I never realised it but I'm starting to understand just how easily influenced I am. A slight prompt. But no, I'm not complaining. This is quite fun, actually. But for old time's sake and the fact that I ramble better in rhymes and shorter phrases, this, too is for you.
Words I'll never say
You wouldn't catch me,
Not a thousand days,
But here, tired yet wide awake,
Thinking, letting today replay.
Darling, a nickname never to be uttered,
Yet in my heart I'll constantly mutter,
Impossible as this may clearly seem,
Like how you fell flat, in a dream.
We both see, into the distant future,
Of screeching planes and airport stutter,
I'll let tears flow free, forget every other,
Arms wrapped tightly, in disbelief and wonder.
If only autumn leaves fell slow,
Time would wait, "later" is fine to see the snow.
Depths I find in your eyes,
Imploring me to be kind.
This hope I wish we both will share,
Of intertwined fingers, and old rocking chairs.
Whether church bells ring, we won't now know,
But in a distant future, I hope love will grow.
It's been awhile. For many good reasons. I was beginning to think I entirely lost my ability to write for fun. I never realised it but I'm starting to understand just how easily influenced I am. A slight prompt. But no, I'm not complaining. This is quite fun, actually. But for old time's sake and the fact that I ramble better in rhymes and shorter phrases, this, too is for you.
Words I'll never say
You wouldn't catch me,
Not a thousand days,
But here, tired yet wide awake,
Thinking, letting today replay.
Darling, a nickname never to be uttered,
Yet in my heart I'll constantly mutter,
Impossible as this may clearly seem,
Like how you fell flat, in a dream.
We both see, into the distant future,
Of screeching planes and airport stutter,
I'll let tears flow free, forget every other,
Arms wrapped tightly, in disbelief and wonder.
If only autumn leaves fell slow,
Time would wait, "later" is fine to see the snow.
Depths I find in your eyes,
Imploring me to be kind.
This hope I wish we both will share,
Of intertwined fingers, and old rocking chairs.
Whether church bells ring, we won't now know,
But in a distant future, I hope love will grow.
Thursday, 16 October 2014
Phobias: No laughing matter
A phobia is a type of anxiety disorder, where a person experiences a persistent, extreme fear towards a specific something. The person is usually aware that the fear is irrational, but will experience distress and intense fear in the event of coming into contact of a situation where the phobia cannot be avoided entirely.
I, for one, have scoleciphobia and myriapodophobia.
Scoleciphobia is the phobia of worms;
Myriapodophobia is the phobia of millipedes.
When I define my phobia to people, I generally define it as a phobia of longish creatures that have either no legs or more than 8 legs.
I do NOT have insectophobia.
To clarify, I'm okay with snakes, okay with grasshoppers and crickets, okay with spiders, (not so much cockroaches, but it's not a phobia), okay with beetles, ants, bees, butterflies, mosquitoes and basically everything else.
Things I am NOT okay with are
Earthworms
Worms
Any type of worm
Maggots
Millipedes
Centipedes
Caterpillars
Snails
Slugs
Leeches
I decided to make this blog post all out of a sudden because I realised the world doesn't know enough that PHOBIAS ARE NOT A JOKE.
I had a dream this morning which I woke up to crying and sweating. In the dream, my family was talking about going to buy this dish to eat which contained minute live caterpillars. There were also two huge millipedes leaving the porch of my house when we were leaving the house, and another one curled up and twitching IN THE FRONT OF THE CAR next to the driver and passenger when I was in the Estima. In the dream, I was screaming and crying, but nobody heard me. Everyone in the dream treated it like I was overreacting. I WAS overreacting, but phobias are not a joke. It's disappointing, but in reality, reactions I get from people aren't far off from the ignorance I got in my dream.
There are different degrees as to how intense one person's fear of something can be.
I have a fear of heights, but it is a not a phobia.
For someone with a phobia, you understand entirely what I am talking about.
When I come into contact with my phobia, I get a panic attack. I literally have no rationality left in me, my chest starts pounding and I experience a panic attack as would someone suffering from anxiety would.
The only difference, is that I need a trigger.
I'll explain, the degree of severity of my phobia.
Even typing the words millipede and caterpillar gives me the chills. Just looking at the words make me picture them and start imagining a terrible situation.
Talking about them, seeing pictures of them, all of that gives me chills at the back of my neck and the start of irrational imagination.
If you ever see me hold the back of my neck and rubbing it, any talking about or picture showing of those things need to stop.
It's because I imagine them at the back of my neck, that's why I need to make sure they're not there.
(Having long hair doesn't help too)
So I just want to remind everyone out there, now that you are more aware of the perspective of someone who actually has a phobia, understand the severity of it.
I get jokingly chased around by someone holding one of those things, thinking that it's funny.
It's not a laughing matter.
I guess I have it worse off sometimes because it's more irrational than a phobia that's more common or taken more seriously such as claustrophobia. Regardless of how 'rational' you think someone's fear is, remember you are not in the position to control 'how scared' they're allowed to be.
People with scoleciphobia have every right to be taken just as seriously as claustrophobics.
You might say 'oh I'm helping them overcome their fear', but in reality, you are making it worse.
If one person wants to work on fixing their phobia, they themselves will make the necessary arrangements for therapy sessions with professionals, and a mental preparation to face their fear.
Scaring the living daylights out of them doesn't help their phobia.
I, for one, have scoleciphobia and myriapodophobia.
Scoleciphobia is the phobia of worms;
Myriapodophobia is the phobia of millipedes.
When I define my phobia to people, I generally define it as a phobia of longish creatures that have either no legs or more than 8 legs.
I do NOT have insectophobia.
To clarify, I'm okay with snakes, okay with grasshoppers and crickets, okay with spiders, (not so much cockroaches, but it's not a phobia), okay with beetles, ants, bees, butterflies, mosquitoes and basically everything else.
Things I am NOT okay with are
Earthworms
Worms
Any type of worm
Maggots
Millipedes
Centipedes
Caterpillars
Snails
Slugs
Leeches
I decided to make this blog post all out of a sudden because I realised the world doesn't know enough that PHOBIAS ARE NOT A JOKE.
I had a dream this morning which I woke up to crying and sweating. In the dream, my family was talking about going to buy this dish to eat which contained minute live caterpillars. There were also two huge millipedes leaving the porch of my house when we were leaving the house, and another one curled up and twitching IN THE FRONT OF THE CAR next to the driver and passenger when I was in the Estima. In the dream, I was screaming and crying, but nobody heard me. Everyone in the dream treated it like I was overreacting. I WAS overreacting, but phobias are not a joke. It's disappointing, but in reality, reactions I get from people aren't far off from the ignorance I got in my dream.
There are different degrees as to how intense one person's fear of something can be.
I have a fear of heights, but it is a not a phobia.
For someone with a phobia, you understand entirely what I am talking about.
When I come into contact with my phobia, I get a panic attack. I literally have no rationality left in me, my chest starts pounding and I experience a panic attack as would someone suffering from anxiety would.
The only difference, is that I need a trigger.
I'll explain, the degree of severity of my phobia.
Even typing the words millipede and caterpillar gives me the chills. Just looking at the words make me picture them and start imagining a terrible situation.
Talking about them, seeing pictures of them, all of that gives me chills at the back of my neck and the start of irrational imagination.
If you ever see me hold the back of my neck and rubbing it, any talking about or picture showing of those things need to stop.
It's because I imagine them at the back of my neck, that's why I need to make sure they're not there.
(Having long hair doesn't help too)
So I just want to remind everyone out there, now that you are more aware of the perspective of someone who actually has a phobia, understand the severity of it.
I get jokingly chased around by someone holding one of those things, thinking that it's funny.
It's not a laughing matter.
I guess I have it worse off sometimes because it's more irrational than a phobia that's more common or taken more seriously such as claustrophobia. Regardless of how 'rational' you think someone's fear is, remember you are not in the position to control 'how scared' they're allowed to be.
People with scoleciphobia have every right to be taken just as seriously as claustrophobics.
You might say 'oh I'm helping them overcome their fear', but in reality, you are making it worse.
If one person wants to work on fixing their phobia, they themselves will make the necessary arrangements for therapy sessions with professionals, and a mental preparation to face their fear.
Scaring the living daylights out of them doesn't help their phobia.
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