The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Centrifugal Force

How do you sleep at night? What do you think about? Perhaps you think about the guys you've wronged and those who have wronged you. Perhaps you think about that girl you wish you you had kissed. Perhaps you'll reminisce about years past, and all the drama that accompanied them. Perhaps you think of a special someone, someone you haven't been able to get out of your head for a year now.

I go to sleep with the air-conditioner turned on full blast, the cold seeping into marrow and numbing my nose but underneath my arms, I'm sweating. I go to sleep with nine pillows on a single bed, two quilts covering my small body to compensate for the freezing temperature, quite aware that out there some people don't even have a house to put a bed in. I go to sleep with my cat next to me, making soft mewling and purring noises in his dream, sporadically moving around and changing positions. I sleep with my iPod touch propped up in front of me, reading into the darkest hours of night and the earliest hint of morning. 

The thing about reading that some people don't seem to get is the escape. The exit of your own world and the entrance into another. I read, I act, I live, what is the difference? When I have to inhabit a character, when I have to feel emotions otherwise alien to me, when I get to sit in my room at one in the morning with only my sleeping cat as a silent company and go through page after page of well written work. I read to live, I act by reading and I live to act. 

Reading is a better mirror than the one you have hanging on your walls. Mirrors only show you what's on the outside but words reflect upon your very soul, the depth of your emotions shines through and blinds you in the eyes, all because of a few words uttered in the silence, staring back at you as you read on. When my eyes scanned the words, the tears fell down with no emotions behind them whatsoever. Maybe I recognize something in those words I just read that rang true. Maybe the tears were atonement for past misdeeds. Maybe it's just a simple wake up call. 

You're not living in the world you've living in right now. You're living in a lie and you're scared of taking them away from the equation, scared that without those lies, you will be left with worse than a bone dry desert, you will be left with a barren wasteland, gray and cracking under the pressure of the overcast sky, never having been kissed by even the littles hint of sunlight. You're just scared to get out of your mind but you know you can't live there forever.

When I look at you, I feel that. Reflection. You've showed me, with the words you have said and your mannerisms, who I'm not and how badly I'm dealing with this. You're just someone I met and didn't expect to have anything to do with yet you showed me the world. My world. I spent a whole year building sandcastles in the air - not an unlikely occurrence but definitely worth more given who you are.

You know what? I'm going to have to go to sleep and wake up in the morning and live. That's something you've forced me to do. I'm the person you've forced me to become.

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