to complaint

1.	an expression of discontent, regret, pain, censure, resentment, or grief; lament; faultfinding: his complaint about poor schools.

2.	a cause of discontent, pain, grief, lamentation, etc.

Sources from dictionary.reference.com

I know, thats how God balance life. Some people complaints and some don't. I usually write about it, but I try to not voice it out, because, everytime I did, it backfired me. Becos why, apparently, I am not allowed, not permitted, find unfit and not eligible to fit the complaint personnel. I get scolded at, I lost friends, I lost love, whenever I complaint.

I don't know .... why some people just won't understand how I would see it. I try not to complaint and make things easier for people. For them to know that in every way, in every situation, there are options, and life is just hard as we make it. If we chose not to, then everything will be easier.

I wake up every fucking day at 5.30am. I leave the house every fucking day at 6.45am. I drive an hour to work, every fucking day. And sometimes, I don't eat much at work, drink excessive coffee and finish work late. I'll get back home, every fucking day, at 9pm and at 10.30pm if I have evening class at UTAR that starts at 6.30pm-9.30pm. Not to mention I rushed from work at 5.30pm, to PJ on those fucking days. I get home tired, and sometimes, I go to sleep without eating anything. Every fucking day. Some people have the luxury of waking at any given time, goes to work as they pleases even though they do have lots of workloads, but some of them can work at the comfort of their respective homes.

Some people are lucky. I am lucky too.

The only time I'm not lucky is when I get fucking judgements from the complaining people who couldn't cut me some slack.

I try to see the best side of everything. I love my job, meeting all the people, getting all the opportunity.

But why the fuck people don't cut me some slack, that I don't understand.

Btw, I don't even make enough for me to be eligible for fucking tax okay. I'm doing this becos I'm willing to learn, whatever I can. Becos ... I try to make life easy.

Hot tempered people can heat up within seconds and cool down as if nothing happens after they throw their tantrums at innocent people.

Someone who's not temperemental, we bottled up with the heat, and will shiver with guilt from being angry, ends up feeling fucking angry at ourselves becos we let our vulnerability took over, cries alone, give a pat on our own shoulder, and move on. Thinking that the next time we bottled up, it should be ... not that soon.

Right now, I feel sad, hungry and fucking tired. But I don't feel guilty for using the word "fuck" more than 20 times. Who the fucking care anyway. Those I loved will go away and tell it to my face that the world doesn't evolve around me and they have their shit to deal with and couldn't spare a hint of compassion for me. Who the fuck I am anyway? Some filthy rich fucking royalty?

I'm still shivering and the tears are held back, tho a big lump in my throat. People asked me why I am so sad in my writings. What the fuck do they know, who the fuck really know anyway? I laugh and smile in real life. I don't drag my fucking sappy eyes like crazy in person.

This blog is not a fucking writing portfolio. If I wanna do a fucking portfolio, I'd do one nicely, send it to printers, have it published. I can fucking do it if I want to.

This blog is about things I can't share with people in real life becos apparently, I am not allowed to be sad, angry or anything. Becos my job in life is to tend to their worries, their sadness, their complaints. They don't have time to listen to my complaints. Thats why I had this blog.

Earlier this morning, I wanted to write something beautiful. When I left the office at 9.45pm, I still can't write anything beautiful.

NOw I fucking bitter, but who the fuck care!

(Mind me, there are tons of fucking blogs that write the word fuck in their daily posts, so go fuck in hell if you think I went overboard!)