Flow of thoughts

There are no regrets in life, only lessons - Jennifer Aniston

It's driving day again today. Now, I don't hate my instructor so much anymore. I hate myself more. Beside the fact that I'm totally inept when it comes to my motor skills, I can't seem to get it into my thick skull the proper balance between the clutch and the brake and the hand brake. Different people have told me different things and I am sooo confused ! Never have I been so much on the verge of tears until the point when I banged down a frigging pole and as the pole clattered noisily on the gravel, so did my composure. It took a Herculean effort not to lean my forehead on the steering wheel and weep. All the pent-up relunctance and resistance towards driving was slowly and surely bubbling towards the surface of my deceiving calm. I think even my instructor has given up on me. Now, I know how important it is to be able to communicate in the same language.

Today, I got scolded because of some tyre alignment problem I couldn't set straight. I looked blank because I didn't know which line on the tar road he was referring to. He, thought that I didn't understand Cantonese and thus started to illutrate through sign language what he meant. It was hopelessly hilarious, and I had to cup my hands over my mouth as I convulsed in frustrated, helpless laughter. It was horrid I tell you. It was impossible to stifle the hysterical laughter that was so close to the surface, and the instant I laughed, I regretted it. My instructor actually looked as if he was seriously considering to do bodily harm towards me. Not that I blame him. As his face turned shades of purple, I fumbled around in my cluttered brain for an explanation in Cantonese only to realise and belatedly remember that I SUCK in that particular language, thus I didn't know what to say. So, I just settled for "Sorry". As if that explained everything. Sigh.

Anyway, I was forced to take a mock test today. And, as expected, I 'passed' with 'flying colours'. Well, alright, it was bad with a capital B. Right now, the frustration of everything is rising like bile in my throat. I wish I can just go somewhere and spit it out. But like most things in life, it's unavoidable. And, I'll never rest until the day I master this weakness. I'm adamant to succeed and I sincerely hope I will. *resigned sigh* ( someone told me that only elderly folks sigh, and I seem to be doing that a lot, so, do I qualify as old? )

Right now, I'm listening to Keith Urban's "Tonight I wanna cry". I never cry in front of other people. But, this song really made me think. It's irrelevant, yet relevant in a queer sort of way. The chorus goes something like this :

I've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show,

I thought that being strong meant never losing your self control,

But, I'm just drunk enough,

To let go of my pain,

To hell with my pride,

Let it fall like rain,

From my eyes,

Tonight I wanna cry.

There you go. It's a terrible exaggeration, but it suits me right now. I bet I'm going to change opinions pretty soon. But for the mean time, I'm going to hug my doggy, and listen to lulling, lilting songs. Music never fails to soothe my soul. It's the language of love, of comfort, of release and yes, even pain. No matter how bad you suck in Cantonese, Mandarin, English, Spanish, French, Swahili and the many other languages in the world, music is the universal one that binds us all as one race. The blood that runs through humanity itself.