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.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

You Can't Break What's Not Yours

Stare, stone-faced, at something you know to be an anomaly to you. Listen, stone-hearted, to something that you hope to never overhear. Wonder, stone-brained, at how the world has change and puzzle, stone-souled, at what you have done to deserve this. Because we see it in your face, that you disapprove. We see it in your eyes, that you are angry. We see it in text and hear it in spoken letters, that it is wrong. And yet we soldier on and you have no right to stop us. We do not rule the world, not yet, because what we fight for is equality. We do not ruin lives, not yet, because you don't know yet. You don't know that while you're glaring and staring and wishing it to be over that it will never be over, because if only you knew.

If only you knew about science. If only you knew about the three heart beats. If only you knew that on some days, you have two. And you've never done anything about it, nor have you ever intended to find out. Because if you knew, that would be the official end to it all. That would be it. There will be no more happy days or happy families or happy anything, because you don't know now and you can pretend that the kids are all right. You don't know now and you can just imagine that behind closed doors, we're praying. But I'm just praying for it to go away, and then there's the other shoe.

If I were in her position, I wouldn't. I wouldn't have done that. I wouldn't told anyone because sometimes, keeping mum about it is the best way not to hurt people. Would I be much saner, happier, if I never found out? Yes. There's really no doubt about that. I have living proof of it under my roof, I have to take care of it, I have to make sure that no matter what, I am sane enough to handle it all because imagine, just imagine a day when I am mad enough, when I am hurt enough, that you stare, stone-faced, and listen, stone-hearted, and wonder, stone-brained, and puzzle, stone-souled, to tell you what she is.

I can tell that you're fighting a losing battle. We all are. We all have something to say and it's because of you that we've lost the power, that the scales have never been tipped the right way. It's because of you we don't have freedom of speech, nor do we have any sort of platform to stand on. It's a sad and cold day in hell, when we're more afraid of you than we are of the consequences. I am speaking, two-person, because I can speak for myself as much as I want, but I know that as long as nothing changes between the dynamics, that she will feel the same way, and that she does feel the same way. She must. And if not, than that too is your fault. We all have something to say, and I'm just counting down the minutes, waiting for you to say it.

Tell me, and then maybe I'll get some warped and twisted sense of closure. Tell me that I'm wrong, tell me that I shouldn't and tell me that I can't. That won't change anything but at least I know you've tried. Because I know you know. If not all of it, then just a small part. I don't know how much you know, about me, about us, but you know something, whichever one it is, and you're not saying anything. You keep blanketing it with a layer of preaching that just doesn't work. So stop. And don't stare at him like that.

Because what you don't realize is that you're staring at us like that, too.

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