i don't think it's good anymore because i don't get. i can't do i can't think i can't get. i used to think i didn't get it, whatever it is that other people got but now i realize that i just don't get. and i'm hungry. but i'm not. and i'm sleepy. but i'm not. and i'm tired. but i'm not. and i'm empty. but i'm not.
it's gotten to the point where sound doesn't come in, doesn't penetrate. when it's just a bubble and passing around me and over me but not through or into me. it's gotten to the point where i'm afraid of opening my mouth because i know if i start i won't stop. if i cry now i won't stop. if i start now i don't know.
and my dad says that things end just as they begin and i understand that. he says that you meet someone and it starts and it finishes and i understand or i want to understand i'm not sure. i think i understand. i'm hoping i understand or maybe i don't because it's not the end yet but one day it will be. one day, i'm going to be looking out the window and staring at nothing and thinking, this started. this ended. and now here i am.
and my mother cried in front of me and i didn't know what to say. what can i say? i don't know. i don't know what to do or what to think anymore. i don't know god i don't know me i don't know anybody anymore and that's a right laugh, that word, because when did i ever know them in the first place? she says she doesn't care what my sister does as long as she doesn't shut herself up. as long as she doesn't shut me out. and i want a nice family i always want what's nice but we're not nice you know. it's been staring me straight in the face since forever and i don't know why sometimes i make it up as if other people are facing more troubles than we are because we aren't nice. we're bad. i guess the only person who hasn't done anything wrong, the only living saint in the family is my second brother; and all i could think of was 'gay gay gay helena helana'.
and she. she doesn't understand what it's like to be a person. she doesn't understand what it's like to be another person's person yet. it's compromise and it's do. it's work and it's crying and it's all your fault and you come crying to me about it? she, she tells me that he doesn't pay enough attention to her and i can't even get a word in edgewise if you want attention, where's my attention? where'd you hide it, where'd you keep it, did you even have any to give or did you just start your own fucking collection, she, that self-serving selfish.
maybe it was my prayers answered finally, maybe i'm seeing a light that's been shrouded with a cloud of infatuation before, maybe i want to die have you ever thought of that. and she tells me things i don't ever want to hear in a million years and listen to yourself, girl, you are being so stupid. you are being so bad. and i don't like bad.
and it's never giving up, even though the answer is so obviously no. it's knowing that you're trying to spare me my feelings but at the same time you want nothing else to do with me and why are you doing this. why to me.
'i don't care about you,' she says, 'and true enough, sure enough, because if i had cared i would have written pages upon pages about my feelings but as it stands, as we stand, i don't care.' and yes rejection hurts and yet i feel like crying but some things hurt more. she hurts more.
i want to stay. i want this to keep. i want to not know where i go from here and i want to not go. i want to be stationary and i want this to last. not the pain, the others. not the rejection, the others. not them, you. i no longer understand the point in optimism. optimism and in what? the future, others, endeavors? when none of those things are completely in your hands? when outlook changes things to an extent but an extent means a boundary? i just want to stay put.
it's having to put on a face. it's having to move.
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.