The Wait

I fear all the ways I have become a burden, appear to have thought of no one but myself. I fear them so much that I may only be satisfied in dreams of dying, to put an end to my foolishness. Yet another part of me wants to be strong, so I get up almost effortlessly in the morning to assume my responsibilities again, surprisingly with joy. Home can be such a prison for the soul sometimes. After I have rested, I get restless again. And how much crying can one do when it is pointless, so I have not cried at all. The wait kills, the brain does not shut up. The amendments I would like to make, the sorrys I would like to retract/give and the words I want to watch stick themselves like blades under my skin, under my frail idea of hope, then take them out as I bleed blue and stick them back into you. We are all poisonous beings. And thre is no shame, no pain in sharing poison. We build relationships upon these poisons, they come in only both blue and red. Like how those who hide in the comfort of their rooms inject love into their veins - we get high on these poisons, high on hurting each other. I have the courage to do that, and I can wait for you until you are ready. These are days when I revel in joy, in beauty and in decay. One day you shut God out, another you embrace with your lung tissues spilling out of your chest. (He knows how much you have been screaming inside) Embarrassing, isn't it? To have let a mere night break you down. The fact is that I let it, I let you have me, I let you whisper these words and watch spoilt children tickle themselves silly with tears the weight of feathers and hurl stones at their heads aching with pain, filled with images of slaughter and wanting so much to have that first moment when they learnt how to breathe before drowning in their mothers' wombs. Was that me? My mother is not a bad person, it is not her fault for having loved me with so much water. My brother told me about the boy who wanted the moon, he said many people died for him as they made ladder after ladder to ascend the orb. Have I killed you in this way too? The world has no tolerance and we discipline those who have made mistakes with actions, courageous ones, the kind that pricks and breaks itself like an egg yolk full of fresh venom into your life. Life, because suddenly a human represents humanity in all its vanity and lack of compassion. Don't get me wrong, I lack it too. I lack it for myself. I know how to stand here with a knife in my hand to protect myself, but should I need to rid myself of me, I will gladly do it. Though slowly. Though surely. If I wait for you, will you wait for me?

it's not my birthday

It's time I wrote.
Because my fingertips have been crying for days now and all I want to do is flood this box with words.
I haven't written here for awhile because I don't aim to write succinctly.
I want to write something substantial - not for readers who want to know what I've been thinking or even wanting to know if I've felt any sort of negativity towards them, but for myself.

I feel like my lungs are logged with tears I can't cry out.
I've been sad about the way things work, the way success works, the way I progress. I realize that I actually stop to progress. And that isn't very acceptable to anyone. Especially not in the month of July or the next two months to come.
I told my friends how I've always wondered if I'm not meant to be an academic, or maybe even an intellect. I mean, I know that deep down, Media Law & Ethics isn't going to be a subject I'm going to excel in.
Perhaps they thought I was looking for answers from them, but I wasn't.
I just wanted someone to encourage me.

And this is the thing about me.
I look too much for encouragement, for comfort from people I hang around the most.
And maybe that's why they may feel the pressure to tell me the things I want to hear, and to take in the current burden I cut up and distribute like birthday cake.
But I need to learn that sometimes, friends don't have plates for me. And that it's not my birthday.
Friends break these plates on purpose, just so I may finally shut up and deal with my own problems myself.
Maybe that's not the best way friendship works but perhaps the time to rely more on myself has truly come before I break during internship.
I'm not embarrassed to admit since I have found company that I can laugh with and share with, being alone hasn't been something I crave for very much anymore.
But living through this week has shown me that I tried hard, even if I've felt like ending my life for an hour.
Even when I asked unnecessary questions or questions which answers were based on the most commonest of common sense, I asked because things weren't the clearest to me.
And I tried so hard, and forgot to look for alternative solutions - all at the wrong time.
All I ask for is to acknowledge the ideas I suggest, not ignore them. Don't worry about me losing the will to fight for my ideas or even giving up after anyone/everyone has rejected them, it never runs out until it fails to be for the betterment of our project.
But I don't beg for forgiveness or my friends to understand me, because I make mistakes. And it has hurt only myself, not anyone else.
I'm thankful that in that hour, I had my best friend and lover on the line and there's really nothing more I could ever ask for.

I've been missing you so much because you are the person I'm the most comfortable with.
You tell me things I need to hear, you hold me and shower me with love so dearly, I'll never get used to spending quality time with you for only twice a week.
I'm sorry I ask for your attention.
I still wish I could shrink, make a little bed in your breast pocket all day long, and just sleep, where it's close to your heartbeat.

This week I have felt so broken and mended at the same time.
I haven't understood why I make myself so available to get irritated and mad at; I'm still figuring that out.
But for once, I need to trust myself.
And I need to stop missing theatre sessions.
The actor in me needs to jump into some improv really soon.

silence

It always seems to me like I can't ever catch you at the right time.
I honestly love spending time indulging in conversations that provoke me in every way, and maybe the expectation of having that with someone like you is just... too much? Or is it unnecessary?
But why? I can't deny, it is a necessity to me. It's how I bond. I talk you talk, we understand each other and if we've got chemistry then BAM. I want to revel in every kind of rawness a conversation has to offer, but people get tired and tire of speaking so much to each other. Especially lovers.
Why do two hearts have to be quiet?
Sure, they're quiet, they connect with each other even in silence but they would have already understood each other before that.
I still want to know you some more. There are so many questions I'd like to ask but I don't know if you'd like to answer them.

Silence scares me because there are so many potential misunderstandings that could arise from it alone.

I've stopped counting the amount of times I've silently freaked out - and I do it silently because it brings nothing to the table and it isn't the sort of 'truth' I want to let you know because I already have, but it presents itself to me as a sort of failure.
A failure that doesn't let you open your heart to speak to me.
Speak to me about me, about you, about the world, about ideas, about what makes us work, what makes things work, your ideals, why you gave up on things, why I might give up on things but still hold on - everything.
I want to know everything.
I want to experience you so much, and I haven't felt this desperate to achieve this ever since God knows when.

People

I've never felt understood by most people, so when Jon texted me tonight I felt like I could give him a pen and he'd know what the themes and issues my life story would encompass. And he'd score an A for that essay. Not A+ because he isn't actually me.
I miss him. I have so much to say to him and to tell things to, and I want to listen to him more than ever, and to wait for him to tell me his crazy plans and theories, especially since he's in the army and we can't meet as often to get ramen.
He's the kind of friend I don't need to physically hug to know we're close.
Some people hug you and you hug them back, as if you're trying to push yourself into them and them into you but sometimes, in the end, you don't even know them and they don't even get you.

Tomorrow Jia will be 19. In three more days, she's going to leave for Australia.
That means I don't get to see her on Sundays for dinner with the family anymore.
I've always felt so thankful for the compassion she has and how much she strives to understand me when my family misunderstands me. I forgive the fact that she has misunderstood me, many times actually. But I love her for the fact that she makes the effort to look at me like a person, and to love me like one as well.
We're not close.
We're not like sisters or even friends.
It is a pity that there wasn't another word, because I am neither those to her but I can be comfortable yet not entirely comfortable around her. But when I'm comfortable, it's like sinking into a bean bag. A green one.

I need to stop writing about how loving someone romantically makes me feel.
I need to write something for my friends too.
I am ever blessed to have friends like Zany, Hana and Adrian.
The fact that I saw my very first shooting star with Zany and Adrian is one of the biggest blessings I could ever be bestowed. Bestowed, because that night was such a gift.
I realised that I don't give a shit if people listen. I give a shit and many shits in fact, when people understand.
That is so hard to come by.
I want to live out the next two months to come, yet I want to preserve them, always.
People are so intricately made, how could there not be a God who loves?