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 30, 2011

An Idiot's Tale

Was I supposed to think that that was nothing?

Last year I thought I was in love. And it was bad. I spent the whole year this year, trying to get over it, trying to tell myself that I prayed for the right thing, I prayed for it to go away. And just this once, my prayers were answered. This year, I wrote a letter to the person you dated, saying that I hope you get treated right, that I hope your smile gets appreciated because you hate it, but I love it, your smile. It could brighten up my day, just that one thing last year, and it hurts. It hurts because you hang out with the wrong crowd, you do things I would never dare to do, not in a million years, and you're not a good person, at all. It hurts because you left, and I'm just here thinking, 'was I supposed to think that that was nothing?' and yes.

I knew from the beginning what it meant if I decided to just go with it. I knew what kind of person that made me. Regardless, I always answered your calls, always made the first moves, I was always there for you and we're friends, aren't we? And I'm the person who won't judge no matter how low you sink, aren't I? And then you told that me you went ahead and did that and of course I was all right with it. Who am I to have a word in edgewise about your self worth, your self respect? No one. I'm no one. And maybe that was when I realized it: that I would rather be no one to you than someone who had to heave the burden of being in love with a person like you.

Last year I fell in love. And I hated in. I hate it. I hate feeling powerless, like why is someone else controlling my feelings? I like to be in control, I like holding the reigns. And like five years ago, younger and no dumber than I am today, I pushed. Like I pushed him away and for an entire year. I acted like a complete idiot after insulting him and blow after blow after blow and I expected someone to like me after all of that? I expected friendship? I was delusional and I was delusional this year because I didn't learn from my mistakes, because I didn't know.

I know what you must be thinking, what kind of crazy batshit person didn't even realize that they were hurting someone they love and then got off on playing the victim, because that was what I did. I understand now, I mean, I just realized that if I were in your position I would have done the same thing. Ignored me. You know everything, the whole mess of a story, the entire embarrassing epoch. And you didn't have to be nice to me at all this year, you didn't even have to talk to me at all but you did. You told me a lot of things, things you probably don't tell most people and how did I repay you? I am so embarrassed.

I don't think you'll ever know this but you are the best person I've ever met. And I miss you so much but you deserve to be friends with people who treat you well. And I was wrong. I shouldn't have flaunted it in your face like that, not in that setting of all places, I shouldn't have said that, because it's all my fault. I ruined it. It's my fault and I am so sorry and I will do whatever you want me to do from now on and if it includes staying away, then I will.

I'll do whatever but I'll never make up for being the total bitch that I was to you for the past two years.

I don't expect you to understand. Not really. Not ever.

The thing is, I probably gave her too much credit. I say a lot of shit, sure, and maybe I maybe I mean it, maybe I don't, but I know now that I am not a hundred percent certain of 'who I am'. So who am I to say that anyone else is a concrete person, a full, fully-realized person who truly know who they are? We're all still clay. So when she stood up there and cried, I am no judge of the cause. I can't say for certain whether she cried because she was thankful, or because she was angry at the world for giving her, well, me.

I'm going to be frank, I don't like you. I don't like how you always bring me down. There are people out there who tell me that I'm a bad person and yet they say it in a gentle way. You make jokes and you expect people not take you seriously but you take me seriously. You seriously think I am that person because you still haven't let go of this eight year old monster who would tear up your pencil and ruin your life. And I know you would rather be with the other two, I know that, because I wasn't not really part of the core group, am I? I got there, I paid my dues, and I know that no matter how many times I have to get hazed or initiated, I'll never be one of you guys. Because I am not.

I don't like you because you're a hypocrite and I don't care what you think of me. When I was mad at you and Hanna, I talked crap about you guys behind your back all the time. And I know that I would be lying if I said I didn't expect the favor to be returned.

I don't know what to do with you, because you're my friend. Can we continue being friends even though we obviously do not like each other? Probably, because what choice do we have? You're nothing you say you are, you're better, sometimes not, but whatever mirror you're looking at, look at it again, because you're seeing someone totally different than who you really are.

And as for the other one, I appreciate everything you've done for me. It's hard, I know it is, and I'm not going to say likewise because you are head and shoulders easier to handle than me. We're not adults, we're not mature, and maybe the day will come when we will be mature adults and maybe we'll face that day together. But for now, just thanks, because it was hard for me, but I just want to grow up a little bit, be a bigger person than I was before and say that I know it was probably harder for you.

Hypocrites are the worst. But I'm starting to think that maybe passive aggressive people are just as bad.

All right, so I was full of it. I mean, I know how I came off as, I know how rude I was and how I expected things to fall back into place without even raising a finger. I know that, for that instance, I was in the wrong for choosing the wrong words, and there has been enough apologies about that. It's settled, and people don't want to reference mistakes that they've committed in the past and for this once, I'll honor you, all of you, by doing just that. It's done. It's settled. The dust is cleared. And while not all is forgiven, we've put a very shallow blanket of amnesia over ourselves, enough to say that all is forgotten.

But let me just get one thing straight: I do not need your pity. You know why? Because there are people out there, people I haven't even had a full proper conversation with who think that they have a right to judge me. And I don't do that. I try not to make assumptions anymore, I try not to judge. So don't feel sorry for me, don't feel like I didn't ask for this because I did. Be the change you want to see in the world? Okay, done. I want everyone to be able to tell other people that they're crap and that they should change. I want bluntness, and honesty and God, I regret it so much sometimes, but I want ruthlessness. And I fall into a pit of hypocrisy once in a while, just a few tears, but I climb out.

I don't need your sympathy, your empathy, your pity. I know people don't like me. And does that hurt? Yes. It keeps me awake at night. I went through three weeks of insomnia after I read what one of my friends wrote about me. And am I willing to live like this, alone, just because I don't want to be a better person? Yes.

You don't have to handle me. You don't have to be my friend and you don't have to like me. If you want to forgive and forget and let bygones be bygones, then by all means. I'll respect your wishes to not discuss it anymore. But if you think I'm going to change, if you pity me because nobody likes me, then you're not going to like what comes next.

-because she can't defend herself.

I know what she writes. I know they're about me. She writes about a girl, lost and confused and willing to be in love with anyone who would love her back. She writes about a fallen girl, who uses this guy to carry out whatever whim she pleases, because he would do anything for her and she couldn't care less. I know what she thinks and what she thinks is wrong.

You might think that I am just using people here for my own means and, sure, I wouldn't deny that, but I wouldn't lie, would I? I wouldn't tell someone that I love them and not mean it? You think this is easy for me, you always have, because you are practically arrange-married to someone and I still get freedom. Because your are the only one in your family and I have allies. Because you knows he doesn't you her and why are you taking this all out on me, exactly?

You've been doing it for a year. One whole year, don't you get tired of telling me that I am a bad person? Don't you tired of seeing me happy regardless? I know you didn't expect it to last, me neither, but just because I identify myself the way I did, doesn't mean that I'm deserting you. Doesn't mean that you're alone in this. You think it's smoke and mirrors, it is, everything is. But it doesn't matter that he's had to go through what he did with his family, and his schoolmates and his so-called friends, and it doesn't matter that I pined. I am tired of telling you to stop treating me like a glass child.

I spent another year knowing, and living with it, and having something else to deal with to boot. I don't care, you know I don't but I, I had a choice. I could have always chosen you. I could have always chosen to do this thing properly and I know one day I probably will but it's not fair. It's not fair that for right now, I can't be who I am but she does? She gets to parade it in her own house and she gets to do all these coupley, relationshippy things and I'll never get that. Not because I can't, but because I've made my choice. I won't.

Like I said, if I'm going to hell, I'm doing it for me. Not for anyone else. And I know he hurts everyday, I do, too. I know it's not fair, neither is this.

Learn to live and not live vicariously.

I know, I know, I shouldn't have started it in the first place. I shouldn't have made connections, assumptions, I suppose, and maybe if I hadn't been so stuck in the clouds, none of this would have panned out the way they did. I was entranced, by a good story, by a good actor, by a good person, and all through the first half, all through each and every episode, I said to myself, "Wow, I could relate." But who was I kidding.

I couldn't, of course I couldn't, because it's earth and sky, night and day different. I guess I should've known, I've never done it before. I have never, since the age of ten, ever fallen asleep as myself. There's always been fantasies, stories wrapped in other stories, a world, a headcanon, that's not my own. So you might ask me, why, and I might give you all the answers in the world (I don't like people, you know that; I like talent), but fact remains that when I saw him, the first thing that I thought I saw was kin.

So he came into my life, right place, right time, and I've never gone to bed with anyone else in my head ever since. I was slipping, losing the imaginary friends I had made before that, my magical friends, but it didn't matter. It neither mattered that it was the final year nor that I was halfway to abandoning the entire thing altogether. What mattered was that it wasn't relevant anymore; it wasn't me, anymore. And now you're all aware: I am a big fat lunatic.

And yet I still feel so entitled. I hate that, you know. Well, most of the time I do because it makes me not able to have a proper conversation about it with anyone. I look at them, my friends, and I can't help but think that I did and contributed so much more. Time, energy, emotions, sweat and blood. But then I look at the others, the people who did more than I did, and I don't feel like I belong anymore. Because I don't. When I go to sleep at night, it's not spells and potions that flicker behind my eyelids. It's something else. And it's something that has been slowly ruining my life ever since it set its claws in.

After six, maybe seven years, I'm sorry it had to end this way. I hated every second of it.

I'm just me.

And I can't change that. This year, my goal was to be the best, but I didn't exactly achieve that. I got sidetracked, waylaid, I took unnecessary detours and participated in redundant drama. I created some redundant drama myself. It wasn't an ideal year, wasn't the best.

When I got my PMR results slip, did I feel like I've done my best, be my best, be the best? Of course not. But while last year, I learned plenty about me, as a person, this year I learned a lot about other people. Like how, we all get second chances, but never third ones. Like how sometimes, the two-faced monster is kinder. Like how, I can't preach the rights of certain minority groups without learning to accept my friends first. Like, sacrifice.

I can't have two realizations at a time. I might have come to the right conclusion regarding one person, but as for the rest? I still have no clue. Not enough data to process.

I'm scared. I don't want to do anything but sit in my chair all day and not think about the future. I know I'm waiting for something, something to happen. Maybe I'm waiting for a chance to finally do it properly, waiting for people to forgive me, or to forgive people. I know Hanna said that what I'm waiting for is for a time when I'm allowed to make my own calls. But as that time draws nearer, closer, I get more and more scared. But then I think about it, about the people that I have and am going to have next year (and am not going to have), and I think, okay, maybe I can do this.

Not alone.

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