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.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Being Part of Something Special

By its very definition, glee is about opening yourself up to joy.


Hate is like mercury poisoning. Or something like that. It's something you can't flush out, can't get rid of just by taking the right actions, waving a magic wand, chanting witchy rhymes. It's permanent and it accumulates over time. You might think you love someone you used to hate, but underneath the calm, underneath even the storm, lies the hate. Docile from lack of thought, submissive because it's been beaten down by something like love. Like, how can anything beat love?

But love fades. Hate is like mercury poisoning.

So I'm not surprised when I see a flicker of it across your features, just a flicker, roll of the eye, twitch of the brow and upturn of the mouth. I'm not surprised because no matter what's buried and what's water, under bridges, can be dredged back up, was never gone in the first place. Hate is accumulative, and it stays. So I'm not going to expect my hate for her to disappear, even though I wrongfully and naively thought it would before. It doesn't matter how I 'loved' you, love is a tense waiting to be turned, present to past. Hate stays.


Hate is what can cross a feature, more fleeting than love can, more distinct.


I don't want to say goodbye, I think. I think I never want to, because saying goodbye means admitting that all those bitter, world-weary losers were right. You're living proof that a loser can be a right. Living proof that someone who wanted to win it all can, at the end of the day, fall from ungrace and embrace a loser's idea. No, I don't want to say goodbye, even if I look at her and see nothing but the past.

What you're looking for is the past and you're not going to find it with me. I shed them off last year, I got rid of anything that wasn't hate. I can only manage to care just a little bit more. What you're looking for has left. Left you. I don't want to say goodbye but every friendship has its expiration date. Every single one.

Only a non-friendship doesn't have one.


I don't want to say goodbye if it means having to distance myself from one of the only source of comfort I have. It's stupid, asinine; it doesn't contribute. (Isn't kind, isn't necessary, doesn't fill the silence.) But what choice do I have? It was the biggest sacrifice I ever carried out, a whole entire year dependent on one bright ray of sunshine, living the lives of people who can afford to live those lives. But it would hurt more if I kept doing this. Being part of something special, made me special.

After this, he's leaving. After this you don't have to worry about a breakup letter. After this, the world.


Friendship is sacrifice. And we've all sacrificed a lot. I sacrificed my sanity and my principles to be friends with these people. I sacrificed my view of the world to be friends with some other people. I sacrificed my pride, and my time, and my tears. They sacrificed a lot to. I sacrificed a lot more than that for a television show that didn't repay me in kindness, in necessity, in filling the silence. And them, the shining stars blanketing Tinseltown, they had made sacrifices as well.

But sacrifice, as we all learn sooner or later, only counts in blood.


I'm never saying goodbye to you, until he has to.

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