Those memories are ours. Ours and no one can take them away from us. We created them, literally, from the very first second to the very last breath between us, we created them ourselves.
And I would give up forever to just hug you again because if I'd known it would come to this, come to the point wherein we would probably never be as close as we were and yet I would still love you with every fiber of my being perhaps until the day I die because we all know I never let things go, if I had known, I would hold onto your hugs just a few seconds longer, commit your scent to memory just a little bit more because there are days when I wake up and I just can't remember anymore.
And I'd start to panic and worry. I'd start thinking that what happened never happened. You never told me you were glad to have met me, you never told me how highly you thought of me, you were never there for me, you never laid down beside me on the classroom floor, you never held me as tightly as I held onto you, as if you cared about me even a fraction as much as I care for you.
But then I'd go back to square one. Those memories are ours.
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.