Today saw us running for Hope today, untrained muscles protesting against a shock decision to enter us in a ten kilometer run (at least it wasn't an army half) as we struggled not-so-valiantly on. There was talk half way of abandoning our run and pigging out at mcdonald's, but the ever present fear of the apparition of the boss solidifying before our eyes kept us plodding steadily onwards.
After the run we finally had that promised mcdonald's brekky. I was disturbed to watch full grown men fretting about their caloric intakes, but such is the way of the world these days, when women are women, and men are women too.
*****
I remember those last moments when we parted.
You were curled up in bed gasping for breath. Your eyes were filled with pain and anguish, as were mine.
The boy who talked too much for you stood mutely over you, all out of words.
I want you to know that all I felt was overwhelming pain and sadness.
There was no anger, no hatred.
Perhaps in some alternate universe out there we found the courage to speak to each other and make nice again.
In this one I turned, and left, before my world broke any further apart.
I never wanted us to end this way. Not like this.
*****
I listened to J telling me about her breakup.
I can't believe he's dating again! I can't fucking believe he's dating again! It's only been a week!
And then I remembered what you wrote :
Ten days.
*****
I remember how whenever I heard distressing things like the other doctors boasting about shagging the nurses - and you put your cock in her mouth on the sofa... and you did her on the table doggy style... and in the club you... etc
I remember when they were slagging off... your colleagues
I remember feeling the world becoming darker, and being thankful that I had you, that I had a place to take refuge from the darkness and insanity of the world around me; I remember how I used to tell you all about it, and how you would console me and things seemed better again.
I remember how everything felt the instant the darkness of the world suddenly seemed to have seeped into my last place of shelter.
*****
Did it ever strike you how ironic things are?
How E used to try to persuade you that I would be like all the other doctors - a cheat, a liar. How you wrote that you defended me to her, but secretly worried it might be true - because you could understand how it happens all too easily, someone more beautiful, someone fresher faced.
And how at the end of the day it was E herself that was the liar and the cheat.
That E and C are still working through their differences, manipulative and malignant as they are, and that we have lost everything between us, although we were... not like them?
How you wrote how much you had to lose us for your peace of mind - so that you wouldn't be tormented.
And how you were tormented when we lost each other? As was I?
I know how these things work. Each passing day our bridges remain burnt makes the crossing more difficult; each passing day brings new people into our lives, and makes our memory dwindle.
It struck me how odd everything was the other day, as I was talking to G online.
G! Who out and out betrayed me - friends again (although obviously no longer as close as before, and perhaps friends only in name)
We - two people who were - I like to think - good kids. Good to each other. All you have to say to me is fuck off, and all I can do is not think about things.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Stargazer
D's telling me how bad she feels about her recent breakup.
D is one of the few air stewardesses who rebelled and left the service when she found herself growing into the routine and her brain atrophying from lack of use - and didn't like it.
So, she says, looking at me with those huge, hyponotic liquid lemur eyes of hers - he's the kind of guy who stays home a lot moping by his lonesome.
He's all torn up about the breakup while she's doing okay, going out every night and generally having a great time, and it makes her feel guilty, you see.
I watch her and nod sympathetically, and think : is it really any better? Going out loads with new people I barely know? Is it any better if neither of us is acting terminally-wounded bleeding-heart soldier, but if there's a common spring of sadness oozing steadily away somewhere beneath the mutually happyish veneers?
D goes on to say that she's still friends with most of her exs. I shake my head as I walk, saying I just can't understand how she does it, I've tried just the once and it wasn't good.
*****
We were at your place, which oddly looked exactly like my room.
We were rather stilted and awkward at first, but you started telling me something scandelous about your friends, and as I prompted you for more details you became more and more excited,and were in full swing when there was a knock - just once - on the open door, and then someone strode in stage left. Through that door which opens inwards, which looks exactly like my bedroom door.
He was tall with very short cropped hair, and his body language and puzzlement at finding me here in your room which looked exactly like my room made it very obvious who he was. I remember feeling startled as well, since you hadn't told me you were already going out with someone new.
And then I woke up.
*****
That's Aldebaron, he said, his voice passionate with interest, with just a hint of a smirk on it (I actually glanced sideways as he said it to check, but no, his face was blank)
And then MM said exactly what I was thinking - the way she always seems to - "Whoa! That was kind of sexy!" and glanced at me.
And then we laughed, and I confessed to thinking most un-manly thoughts.
He said well yeah, I tried it on MM but it just didn't work... and MM said quietly, it did at the time, for a moment.
K the bar owner doesn't quite understand; introducing his slew of sexy-bevy beauties to me - that I don't gun for cool impassive obvious ephemeral beauty, but rather for quirky, slightly unstable funny types who're easy to speak to.
I used to imagine it was because said types were good communicators, but watching MM I realise it's because I'm like that myself - MM put her finger on it, remarking that I get on so well with her nutty friends who have taken so quickly to me, which by extrapolation of logic makes me a nutty type myself.
That's precisely it : I understand her; there's just no effort required to follow her train of thought.
Birds of a feather, nuts of a shell.
D is one of the few air stewardesses who rebelled and left the service when she found herself growing into the routine and her brain atrophying from lack of use - and didn't like it.
So, she says, looking at me with those huge, hyponotic liquid lemur eyes of hers - he's the kind of guy who stays home a lot moping by his lonesome.
He's all torn up about the breakup while she's doing okay, going out every night and generally having a great time, and it makes her feel guilty, you see.
I watch her and nod sympathetically, and think : is it really any better? Going out loads with new people I barely know? Is it any better if neither of us is acting terminally-wounded bleeding-heart soldier, but if there's a common spring of sadness oozing steadily away somewhere beneath the mutually happyish veneers?
D goes on to say that she's still friends with most of her exs. I shake my head as I walk, saying I just can't understand how she does it, I've tried just the once and it wasn't good.
*****
We were at your place, which oddly looked exactly like my room.
We were rather stilted and awkward at first, but you started telling me something scandelous about your friends, and as I prompted you for more details you became more and more excited,and were in full swing when there was a knock - just once - on the open door, and then someone strode in stage left. Through that door which opens inwards, which looks exactly like my bedroom door.
He was tall with very short cropped hair, and his body language and puzzlement at finding me here in your room which looked exactly like my room made it very obvious who he was. I remember feeling startled as well, since you hadn't told me you were already going out with someone new.
And then I woke up.
*****
That's Aldebaron, he said, his voice passionate with interest, with just a hint of a smirk on it (I actually glanced sideways as he said it to check, but no, his face was blank)
And then MM said exactly what I was thinking - the way she always seems to - "Whoa! That was kind of sexy!" and glanced at me.
And then we laughed, and I confessed to thinking most un-manly thoughts.
He said well yeah, I tried it on MM but it just didn't work... and MM said quietly, it did at the time, for a moment.
K the bar owner doesn't quite understand; introducing his slew of sexy-bevy beauties to me - that I don't gun for cool impassive obvious ephemeral beauty, but rather for quirky, slightly unstable funny types who're easy to speak to.
I used to imagine it was because said types were good communicators, but watching MM I realise it's because I'm like that myself - MM put her finger on it, remarking that I get on so well with her nutty friends who have taken so quickly to me, which by extrapolation of logic makes me a nutty type myself.
That's precisely it : I understand her; there's just no effort required to follow her train of thought.
Birds of a feather, nuts of a shell.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Stay awake
Driving home after a particularly long and sleepless public-holiday call, I had a bad "moment". Don't know what the precipitant was, all I was trying to do was stay awake.
There wasn't any associated visual or audio flashback, just a sudden moment of... crushing sadness.
Catharsis :
Who moves on first, who forgets who first and finds happiness first... it's all moot; that's what happens when two lives diverge, right?
S, J's friend is wrong, as is J. It's not about "winning" at all... it's not really a game is it?
There were no winners between us; just two losers left to pick up the pieces on their own, left with their memories of a love that had once felt real.
I went for a haircut and remembered the last time I'd been there, remembered messaging her from time to time while my hair was being washed, then cut, then dried. Remembered meeting her afterwards when I was done.
And then I closed my aching eyes, while the lady was asking me if the water temperature was all right, and just thought : I so need a laugh.
I so need to laugh.
And then my phone rang - and it was MM.
"hello...?"
And then we laughed.
There wasn't any associated visual or audio flashback, just a sudden moment of... crushing sadness.
Catharsis :
Who moves on first, who forgets who first and finds happiness first... it's all moot; that's what happens when two lives diverge, right?
S, J's friend is wrong, as is J. It's not about "winning" at all... it's not really a game is it?
There were no winners between us; just two losers left to pick up the pieces on their own, left with their memories of a love that had once felt real.
I went for a haircut and remembered the last time I'd been there, remembered messaging her from time to time while my hair was being washed, then cut, then dried. Remembered meeting her afterwards when I was done.
And then I closed my aching eyes, while the lady was asking me if the water temperature was all right, and just thought : I so need a laugh.
I so need to laugh.
And then my phone rang - and it was MM.
"hello...?"
And then we laughed.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Stars in their eyes
So tonight K took me out on a dinner date with the celebrity chick. (attempt #2)
Apparently K thinks I have style about me, which is why I'm suddenly reaping the benefits of a series of strangely timed nights out peri-call (ha, i won't write "on"...) at the bidding of the evil witch J who leads men down paths of decadence to sure destruction.
Shrug.
So the Celebrity Babe, ML was actually prettier in person than on her magazine cover, but there was something disconcertingly familiar about her laugh... can't place it, but she really, really reminds me of some sometime-friend from my past. Shrug. Perhaps MY? Mmm.
And yes, she was beautiful to look at, yes, but just... not... interesting. Not to re-minisce anyway, who probably has a thing for psycho, independent-type girls who tend to wander off into the sunset with other men, or by themselves. Shrug.
And whoever she reminded me of was someone I used to just see as a friend; and it rubbed off, so strange as this may sound, though she rated a 9.5 to look at, factor everything else in and she fell to perhaps an 8.5, and by the rules of The Game (which re-minisce is currently devising, and thinks he may name "Wild Oats", and if it takes off in a big way may pave a path to re-minisce's retirement...)... a non-starter.
So when he dropped her home he bid her adieu, and that was that.
Nice girl, very pretty. Kinda hot.
Shrug.
K's efforts are so wasted on me.
Apparently K thinks I have style about me, which is why I'm suddenly reaping the benefits of a series of strangely timed nights out peri-call (ha, i won't write "on"...) at the bidding of the evil witch J who leads men down paths of decadence to sure destruction.
Shrug.
So the Celebrity Babe, ML was actually prettier in person than on her magazine cover, but there was something disconcertingly familiar about her laugh... can't place it, but she really, really reminds me of some sometime-friend from my past. Shrug. Perhaps MY? Mmm.
And yes, she was beautiful to look at, yes, but just... not... interesting. Not to re-minisce anyway, who probably has a thing for psycho, independent-type girls who tend to wander off into the sunset with other men, or by themselves. Shrug.
And whoever she reminded me of was someone I used to just see as a friend; and it rubbed off, so strange as this may sound, though she rated a 9.5 to look at, factor everything else in and she fell to perhaps an 8.5, and by the rules of The Game (which re-minisce is currently devising, and thinks he may name "Wild Oats", and if it takes off in a big way may pave a path to re-minisce's retirement...)... a non-starter.
So when he dropped her home he bid her adieu, and that was that.
Nice girl, very pretty. Kinda hot.
Shrug.
K's efforts are so wasted on me.
Monday, September 29, 2008
The List
So here I am, stuck at the office working on tomorrows pre and post presentation; the list of patients is as always daunting, and I'm limping through it one name at a time.
I remember the last time around when I was rushing through them without heed or care; the secretary, bless her, had told me I was presenting first thing the very next morning. And all I could think about was that I had to get it out of the way quick so that I could go shopping with her, I don't know why I didn't give her a heads up, except that I was convinced she'd be dead to the world as usual. Just tried to work as quickly as I could and then faster still, and maybe there would still be time to go... please... because I really wanted to.
Isn't that bizarre, I was excited about taking the girlfriend shopping. Me. Shopophobe.
But there was something about shopping with her that I liked; I'm not sure I can put a finger on it; holding hands as we walked, with her bright eyed like a squirrel foraging for... clothes. Holding up things that were blah, and once in a while finding something really special that looked spectacular on her... and the little moments of happiness we shared then. Perhaps it was just the spending time with her, and getting to watch her actions and reactions and feeling happy to be around her.
But by the time I finished she disagreed with me that we could still make it to the shops in time, and we were both bitterly disappointed.
So now I have all the time in the world to plow through this neverending list, and I'm not going to be done by eight, and there's just... nothing. In my way.
I remember the last time around when I was rushing through them without heed or care; the secretary, bless her, had told me I was presenting first thing the very next morning. And all I could think about was that I had to get it out of the way quick so that I could go shopping with her, I don't know why I didn't give her a heads up, except that I was convinced she'd be dead to the world as usual. Just tried to work as quickly as I could and then faster still, and maybe there would still be time to go... please... because I really wanted to.
Isn't that bizarre, I was excited about taking the girlfriend shopping. Me. Shopophobe.
But there was something about shopping with her that I liked; I'm not sure I can put a finger on it; holding hands as we walked, with her bright eyed like a squirrel foraging for... clothes. Holding up things that were blah, and once in a while finding something really special that looked spectacular on her... and the little moments of happiness we shared then. Perhaps it was just the spending time with her, and getting to watch her actions and reactions and feeling happy to be around her.
But by the time I finished she disagreed with me that we could still make it to the shops in time, and we were both bitterly disappointed.
So now I have all the time in the world to plow through this neverending list, and I'm not going to be done by eight, and there's just... nothing. In my way.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Puff the magic dragon
It turns out these days that being called a geek is actually a compliment. It's a strange world we live in.
I had an odd moment of inspiration last night over dinner, and gravitated over to a bar someplace to tell my new friend (father of the Jedi Knight) about it, partly because said idea will require a venue.
I found myself unceremoniously being preyed on by a gang of women, one of whom was rather aggressive but entertaining in her own way; perhaps the funniest thing she had to say to me was that the best coping strategy in any breakup is for blokes to think of their ex girlfriend as a walking pudenda; I asked her if all her ex boyfriends become walking dicks, and she matter of factly said yes, in between promising to puff my pastries. Other observations were that I was clearly a geek, very quirky ideas, very funny, very charming, blahdeeblah. Shrug. I'll blame it on Jedi Dad, who keeps wandering around to whoever I'm talking to and declaring loudly what I do to them. It's starting to annoy me, in truth.
It was a good laugh for a while, but I dunno, I'm the kind of guy who'd rather chat with a familiar face than have my pastries threatened by a stranger I guess, so I abandoned the hormonally-deranged women after a while to head back inside where the music was.
*****
I remember a lifetime ago, back when I was in JC, when Kim looked at me in that way that she had, with those piercing grey-brown eyes of hers, and asked me if I enjoyed being unhappy.
I knew where she was coming from; I hated that even I reminded myself of the then-friend I had, who seemed to relish wallowing in self-pity and melodramatic love-from-afar. Essentially a variant of the high-school crush; the chap had all the symptoms and more including a stammer and tremor in his Goddess' presence, (tremor be damned, he shook like a leaf) and a propensity towards speaking to her in French. His poems about the beauty that glided in the night weren't actually too bad, but it touched a raw nerve in me somehow, belligerant closet-rebel that I was then. I found it ludicrous; he had everything going for him - the girl was right there in front of him, all he had to be was direct, and it would be over one way or the other; a shot to the heart or a shot to the head, cut dried done and dusted.
At some point I sold my friend out and told the girl; I just couldn't stand it anymore. In some strange way it made a mockery of my own situation, and I hated to think that I was in some way... like him.
The girl knew, but of course she knew -- everyone knew -- I knew that she knew already... but what the hey, at least someone said it to her face. She thanked me for my... strange kindness. Shrug.
So when Kim asked me if I enjoyed being unhappy, a hundred - or perhaps a thousand - thoughts and emotions flooded through my then-simpler mind but it was with dead eyes and an impassive visage that I tonelessly replied, "No."
No, Kim. I don't enjoy being unhappy.
I've always hated it with all my soul.
I had an odd moment of inspiration last night over dinner, and gravitated over to a bar someplace to tell my new friend (father of the Jedi Knight) about it, partly because said idea will require a venue.
I found myself unceremoniously being preyed on by a gang of women, one of whom was rather aggressive but entertaining in her own way; perhaps the funniest thing she had to say to me was that the best coping strategy in any breakup is for blokes to think of their ex girlfriend as a walking pudenda; I asked her if all her ex boyfriends become walking dicks, and she matter of factly said yes, in between promising to puff my pastries. Other observations were that I was clearly a geek, very quirky ideas, very funny, very charming, blahdeeblah. Shrug. I'll blame it on Jedi Dad, who keeps wandering around to whoever I'm talking to and declaring loudly what I do to them. It's starting to annoy me, in truth.
It was a good laugh for a while, but I dunno, I'm the kind of guy who'd rather chat with a familiar face than have my pastries threatened by a stranger I guess, so I abandoned the hormonally-deranged women after a while to head back inside where the music was.
*****
I remember a lifetime ago, back when I was in JC, when Kim looked at me in that way that she had, with those piercing grey-brown eyes of hers, and asked me if I enjoyed being unhappy.
I knew where she was coming from; I hated that even I reminded myself of the then-friend I had, who seemed to relish wallowing in self-pity and melodramatic love-from-afar. Essentially a variant of the high-school crush; the chap had all the symptoms and more including a stammer and tremor in his Goddess' presence, (tremor be damned, he shook like a leaf) and a propensity towards speaking to her in French. His poems about the beauty that glided in the night weren't actually too bad, but it touched a raw nerve in me somehow, belligerant closet-rebel that I was then. I found it ludicrous; he had everything going for him - the girl was right there in front of him, all he had to be was direct, and it would be over one way or the other; a shot to the heart or a shot to the head, cut dried done and dusted.
At some point I sold my friend out and told the girl; I just couldn't stand it anymore. In some strange way it made a mockery of my own situation, and I hated to think that I was in some way... like him.
The girl knew, but of course she knew -- everyone knew -- I knew that she knew already... but what the hey, at least someone said it to her face. She thanked me for my... strange kindness. Shrug.
So when Kim asked me if I enjoyed being unhappy, a hundred - or perhaps a thousand - thoughts and emotions flooded through my then-simpler mind but it was with dead eyes and an impassive visage that I tonelessly replied, "No."
No, Kim. I don't enjoy being unhappy.
I've always hated it with all my soul.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Thoughtless
I forgot to write this last Sunday; the alcohol hadn't quite worn off yet.
But... I'm the boy who's glad that you found love again, and was so very, very happy and honoured to be there last Saturday as you and your other half embarked on a lifetime of happiness and irrationality together; may you both be blessed by Pi and God, and love each other - just the way it's meant to be done.
:)
But... I'm the boy who's glad that you found love again, and was so very, very happy and honoured to be there last Saturday as you and your other half embarked on a lifetime of happiness and irrationality together; may you both be blessed by Pi and God, and love each other - just the way it's meant to be done.
:)
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Nana
Saturday night, and re-minisce found himself at the mercy of Ken's boys who decided that the cure for his recent propensity towards moodiness would apparently be a visit to a Thai disco.
Expensive drinks and cheap women.
Hanging with Ken's "VIP" boys meant avoiding the seedy trawling escorts and being personally introduced to the "classy" singers, who variously tried to physically wipe the sadness off his lips, or grab his hand to put to their foreheads which were ostensibly burning up with fever. Cute.
I'd rather just look morosely at my drink before I kill it, thank you.
There's something about time that changes the way one thinks; once upon a time I would have been thrilled at the prospect of meeting hot-chicks, regardless of insurmountable language barriers and jarringly-loud conversation-obliterating music.
Watching ken's boy chatting shyly to the babe who'd just done an admirable evanescence, watching her watching my eyes, all I felt was... nothing.
****
I need to study.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Do not stop at Go
So it should probably have been a bad thing when she said she knew how to pick locks, and had read the Anarchist's handbook.
And it ought to have rung all sorts of alarm bells in the head of an ostensibly sensible-ish, boring, square kind of bloke.
And it ought to have rung all sorts of alarm bells in the head of an ostensibly sensible-ish, boring, square kind of bloke.
Sluts and Bastards
S. pointed out that perhaps I should learn to take relationships less seriously, and just go out with someone for fun on the understanding that it's only temporary.
She also opines that there's a term for men who do this, which is Bastard; women however are Sluts.
Apparently society frowns upon sluts, but smiles on bastards.
*****
The difference between falling in love with someone, and being in love with them - the first is that thrill most of us are familiar with, manifested variously by tachycardia, sweaty palms, or just a great big swell of happy-happyness. Shrug. The second is either being happy around them and the ease with which time passes with them, or perhaps trauma at separation. It's different for everyone, methinks.
Re : falling in love, it's not all one-way I don't think, one doesn't usually feel anything much if someone who isn't special to you does something extraordinary for you. (Well, perhaps deep gratitude if they give a kidney or a life...)
Well, I don't, anyway. Probably not even for a kidney.
So that pikpokpikpok (a term the ex and her friends employed) isn't really just about you, but about two people. In short, chemistry.
She also opines that there's a term for men who do this, which is Bastard; women however are Sluts.
Apparently society frowns upon sluts, but smiles on bastards.
*****
The difference between falling in love with someone, and being in love with them - the first is that thrill most of us are familiar with, manifested variously by tachycardia, sweaty palms, or just a great big swell of happy-happyness. Shrug. The second is either being happy around them and the ease with which time passes with them, or perhaps trauma at separation. It's different for everyone, methinks.
Re : falling in love, it's not all one-way I don't think, one doesn't usually feel anything much if someone who isn't special to you does something extraordinary for you. (Well, perhaps deep gratitude if they give a kidney or a life...)
Well, I don't, anyway. Probably not even for a kidney.
So that pikpokpikpok (a term the ex and her friends employed) isn't really just about you, but about two people. In short, chemistry.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
En passant
I remember pointing out the sunset to you as I drove, the last hues of red and gold were burning out in the sky, and you saw it and said - this is why I love you, you see the things that nobody else does.
*****
And so the moment that I didn't want to arrive has somehow come and gone.
It doesn't matter anymore, truth or lie, in love or out. It's just something that happened.
*****
Broken Glass
He watched her as she played, with his head resting on the reading-board of the white grand piano, and his eyes on hers.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was just one of those moments.
He reached out and gently took the glasses from her face.
"You don't need those", he said, and smiled.
She smiled, in return.
*****
Memento Mori?
- Sempre Fidelis.
*****
And so the moment that I didn't want to arrive has somehow come and gone.
It doesn't matter anymore, truth or lie, in love or out. It's just something that happened.
*****
Broken Glass
He watched her as she played, with his head resting on the reading-board of the white grand piano, and his eyes on hers.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was just one of those moments.
He reached out and gently took the glasses from her face.
"You don't need those", he said, and smiled.
She smiled, in return.
*****
Memento Mori?
- Sempre Fidelis.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Just another Sunday
So this is what Master Yoda does on lazy sunday afternoons... vanquish evil sith lords in a bar.
*****
Real-life Light Sabre
*****
Real-life Light Sabre
Intrigued
It happened in the flash of an eyelid; the words appeared and then vanished as her hair shifted.
Memento morte.
What does it mean, he asked her?
It's latin, she replied...
It's a mexican saying : always keep death at your left shoulder.
Memento morte.
What does it mean, he asked her?
It's latin, she replied...
It's a mexican saying : always keep death at your left shoulder.
Pass it on
I wish for you my friend / This happiness that I've found / You can depend on God / It matters not where you're bound
*****
I found myself absent-mindedly rubbing my left thumb over my right thumbnail today in church. I won't deny it, it hurt and I missed you. And then we sang, it helped me. And then I prayed for you.
*****
Before I forget; I keep forgetting! Areya has asked me to be her child's godfather, and I haven't the faintest clue how to be a godfather, but it fills me with joy and anticipation. Imagine that, me a godfather. How bizarre is that?
*****
It struck me how odd everything was, as I asked You for a copy of that score I once penned, for You.
Foolish Games.
How inappropriate it was then, and how appropriate now.
*****
I found myself absent-mindedly rubbing my left thumb over my right thumbnail today in church. I won't deny it, it hurt and I missed you. And then we sang, it helped me. And then I prayed for you.
*****
Before I forget; I keep forgetting! Areya has asked me to be her child's godfather, and I haven't the faintest clue how to be a godfather, but it fills me with joy and anticipation. Imagine that, me a godfather. How bizarre is that?
*****
It struck me how odd everything was, as I asked You for a copy of that score I once penned, for You.
Foolish Games.
How inappropriate it was then, and how appropriate now.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Memory
She was getting dressed for work.
"Why...?"
"Because... I get bored."
A pause.
"Then can we try without the games? If we mean enough to you, can we just try, no more games?"
She agreed, and he felt hope, for the first time in a long while.
Twenty four hours later, the message arrived.
She couldn't do it.
So the games are more important to you than I am, than we were, he thought.
I'm so tired. So very, very tired.
*****
He was on his way down to review a patient, trying to make sense of his fragmented world, bitterness and anger creeping in the seams. An old friend on the other end of the phone was telling him how it's never a mistake to love someone, because it makes you a better person.
And then he realised that she was right. It wasn't a mistake, my loving you. It wasn't a waste of time. And when I remember us, I'll remember your face; your laugh, your eyes. I'll smile for the crazy things I remember us doing, and how nice it felt to be there by your side. How proud I was of you, once.
*****
I realise now that perhaps there really were two of you.
There was the gentle, intelligent and insightful creature that I fell in love with, whose tart replies bowled me away and made me start taking notice of her, whose mind gave me pause enough to look harder at the pretty shell and walk into her world. And that creature was considerate and embarrassed at times at her world, and tried not to swear in my presence in case it offended me, and she made me happy. It wasn't that I couldn't stand swearing; in truth all I ever want in any relationship is truth and honesty, and love. It was that she seemed to care so much how I felt. She wanted to be good, for me - which is how I wanted to be, for her. (You make me want to be a better person - As Good as it Gets)
I remember her telling me, in the aftermath of C that she was a very secure person; and I remember a time at Mr Bean when she asked me if I was a confident person, looking at me with those teasing eyes of hers which were not yet filled with confusion and hooded against my own. I remember looking back at her and smiling.
And I choose to believe that that creature I fell in love with fell back in love with me too. There are things one cannot hide, a certain look in your eyes, a certain shyness; a certain way of holding hands, a certain genuineness when we kissed. There are memories of us spending a magical, chilly evening shivering with each other and looking into our other halve's eyes till daybreak. And she wrote about it in the same way, with the same near-reverence that I felt; although she slightly missed the point. Being Atas had nothing to do with it; that was the first and last time I ever, and will ever bring someone to that place to be still with them, and to fall in love with them. That place is special in our memory, and I would never seek to defile it; it would hurt me too much, and take away some meaning from myself.
And then there was the other creature who wrote on her blog, which was a self-centered and insecure creature who became crippled by her perception of how other people around saw her, whose face mattered more to her than love, who could convince herself that she was incapable of trusting someone who loved her for no real reason, and that was reason enough to leave - because his love was too great and hers too little - who was intent on dwelling on how empty she felt inside.
And if that creature had remained a figment of her persona confined to her blog it wouldn't have mattered; but that creature slipped into daily life. And that sense of emptiness bled into us... No amount of presents will ever replace a simple gift of, love from the heart. And that burning need to be happy drove her to... strangeness. At all cost.
And day by day that creature gradually overcame the other.
I write now with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. She wasn't a difficult creature to understand at all, once you realised there were two parts to the whole, which were very, very different from each other. But at the time I just couldn't understand; just couldn't reconcile her increasingly bizarre actions with who I had known her to be. If I had known I would have tried harder to reawaken the first creature, rather than wasting all my time feeling bewildered, and hurting in the dark. I would have sought not to touch your face while you slept and tearing silently at the thought that we must surely end... but to talk. To talk, to beat back the second creature until it died. Because we were important to me.
The second creature forced us apart; I'm not sure which wanted to stay friends. And I wanted to be there too, near to her, holding her, being held in return, hearing her tell me at odd momments that she still missed and loved me, telling her the same in return... because I could not understand the necessity for us to come apart. Because I did not know that the second creature had convinced her that she did not love me, enough, and that moving on was the only cure. I could see that was what she really wanted, and though it would have killed me, I chose to stay, and to try to be there for her.
I read her blog and was horrified to think that she was... who she wrote. That all that had been had been a lie that the second part of her crafted, a loveless long drawn out meaningless time spent wasted; an eternal emptiness. And it was devastating.
And so I chose to leave, for me.
In retrospect I now see that all that had been was not a lie. There were two of you.
*****
There are some things I hope you realise, someday.
The first is that I had an urge, when you forced us apart and hurt me, to return you everything you had ever given me, in anger, in disgust, in rage and sadness.
K helped me to seek God out, with the aid of various phrases from the bible. And I see now that these gifts you gave me remain precious to me, even after everything. They help me remember you, the first you, and smile.
The second is that I never wanted anything from you. (But I was still happy when you gave) I always wanted everything... for you.
That is how I am, when I love someone. That is how anybody is, when they love someone. That's even how the first you was, if you think back far enough. I didn't want us to end, because I remembered we were good, and also because I felt I had failed you.
The third is that I understand now why you cried with me in bed that night, after you had forced us to end as a couple; I understand why you cried when I wanted the first time to end the friendship, and I understand even now why you feel unhappiness after that evening I will never be able to forget, much as I want to.
You can deny it - and you will; the second you holds full sway now. You can tell yourself whatever you need to, to cope. It's okay.
But you know as well as I why you cried, and why it was so hard for you to let go.
You know what I meant when I asked, tormented (no, not callous at all. Callous means uncaring, and I was tormented because I cared too much) why you were even crying at all.
If the second you had been right all along, you would have felt only relief. And it would have been difficult to cry.
We both know it's true - we have both been there ourselves.
I know that you really still loved me, and us - and weren't just saying it, the way the second you probably persuaded you that you were.
The fourth is that the greater part of you, the more precious part is the first you.
It is the part of you that makes me say you could be so very, very much more. The part of you that makes me want you to achieve all your dreams. The part of you that gives you all your insights, of which you have remarkably many, which, if it could vanquish the second and persuade you to return to humility and measure, will enable you to step forwards and take hold of your life, for real. The part of you that will protect you from telling falsehoods, and let you lead your life in joy, and never fear repercussions of your actions.
It is, strangely, the part that God grants you the grace to be. And the part of you that I will pray for, forever.
The fifth is that I have no wish to use anything against you, and I bear you no ill will. I am only human, flawed with the same cheap china shop cracks as everyone else; I break from time to time, and my defence mechanisms come to play - the same as anybody else's. When faced with overwhelming evidence of a lack of truth, I become confused and uncertain what to believe; and if I tend towards cynicism in despair, it is how I cope.
My defence against that is God, and prayer.
The sixth is that I will remember you well. I will not forget the lies, but I will not forget the truths either, and it is your truths that I will choose to remember, smile, and feel sad at; perhaps shed the occasional tear while everything is still too raw in my mind.
The seventh is that I forgive you, for every harsh word, for every mistruth, for every moment that I died a little for you, alone. Not so that I can appear morally superior or uber-Christian, which is how you reacted the first time in anger -- I have no face to lose. And the first time I messaged you that I forgave you everything -- even though back then I knew next to nothing -- I meant it, as I do this time.
I forgive you because it is right. I forgive you because I still love you. But most of all I forgive you because God forgave us all for killing his Son, and asked us to forgive each other our sins to each other. I'm no saint, no martyr. I'm a grubby, flawed, sinful, self-centered christian who falters often and reacts poorly under duress. I am ashamed for all the times I hurt you with my graceless reactions.
I forgive you because I want to.
The eighth is that I see you now, a sum of two conflicting parts. Not all truths, not all lies, just you. Everybody is a sum of two parts, but usually they are not in such strife with each other, not so completely hidden from sight.
I see you and I still believe in you, to take control of your life and become all that you can be.
The ninth is that if you had told me all your truths, once upon a very long time ago; they would have made me love you more and fight harder to help you where I have failed.
The last is that, armed with truth I can finally put it all behind me; past is past. And perhaps one day we can return to loving each other as friends, when I stop being selfish and self-centered, and when you overcome yourself, as well. Perhaps one day I will have the honour to stand with you in church.
I look at E, and then at you - not because I want to judge you poorly, but because I just can't help it -- and I feel such immense sadness and a sense of injustice that E, who couldn't possibly hold a torch to you in any way, who is completely insightless and completely insignificant compared to you, in every way, should be granted a chance to change her life - whether she will take hold of it is anybody's guess. But you, who are still so wonderful in my memory, so very remarkable - even flawed as you are -- well, I hope you'll spread your wings and fly.
I remember you asking me in jest why I wouldn't be your Professor Higgins...
that is the difference between you and E. E is common, and base. Her handicap is that she is blind and thoughtless and needs someone to guide her, see for her, and think for her. You are uncommon and filled with potential, you are filled with insight and are special. Your handicap is only yourself, and only you can overcome it.
*****
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree
*****
I remember You telling me once upon a lifetime ago that I had ruined your weekend, that you'd spent it watching As Good As it Gets with your classmates and not really seeing it or hearing the words, and that you spent most of the rest of your time on the phone to your best friend.
I remember smiling, as you spoke.
*****
I don't know what it means, that I went to the store in search of Music and Lyrics, and came away with As Good As it Gets instead.
"Why...?"
"Because... I get bored."
A pause.
"Then can we try without the games? If we mean enough to you, can we just try, no more games?"
She agreed, and he felt hope, for the first time in a long while.
Twenty four hours later, the message arrived.
She couldn't do it.
So the games are more important to you than I am, than we were, he thought.
I'm so tired. So very, very tired.
*****
He was on his way down to review a patient, trying to make sense of his fragmented world, bitterness and anger creeping in the seams. An old friend on the other end of the phone was telling him how it's never a mistake to love someone, because it makes you a better person.
And then he realised that she was right. It wasn't a mistake, my loving you. It wasn't a waste of time. And when I remember us, I'll remember your face; your laugh, your eyes. I'll smile for the crazy things I remember us doing, and how nice it felt to be there by your side. How proud I was of you, once.
*****
I realise now that perhaps there really were two of you.
There was the gentle, intelligent and insightful creature that I fell in love with, whose tart replies bowled me away and made me start taking notice of her, whose mind gave me pause enough to look harder at the pretty shell and walk into her world. And that creature was considerate and embarrassed at times at her world, and tried not to swear in my presence in case it offended me, and she made me happy. It wasn't that I couldn't stand swearing; in truth all I ever want in any relationship is truth and honesty, and love. It was that she seemed to care so much how I felt. She wanted to be good, for me - which is how I wanted to be, for her. (You make me want to be a better person - As Good as it Gets)
I remember her telling me, in the aftermath of C that she was a very secure person; and I remember a time at Mr Bean when she asked me if I was a confident person, looking at me with those teasing eyes of hers which were not yet filled with confusion and hooded against my own. I remember looking back at her and smiling.
And I choose to believe that that creature I fell in love with fell back in love with me too. There are things one cannot hide, a certain look in your eyes, a certain shyness; a certain way of holding hands, a certain genuineness when we kissed. There are memories of us spending a magical, chilly evening shivering with each other and looking into our other halve's eyes till daybreak. And she wrote about it in the same way, with the same near-reverence that I felt; although she slightly missed the point. Being Atas had nothing to do with it; that was the first and last time I ever, and will ever bring someone to that place to be still with them, and to fall in love with them. That place is special in our memory, and I would never seek to defile it; it would hurt me too much, and take away some meaning from myself.
And then there was the other creature who wrote on her blog, which was a self-centered and insecure creature who became crippled by her perception of how other people around saw her, whose face mattered more to her than love, who could convince herself that she was incapable of trusting someone who loved her for no real reason, and that was reason enough to leave - because his love was too great and hers too little - who was intent on dwelling on how empty she felt inside.
And if that creature had remained a figment of her persona confined to her blog it wouldn't have mattered; but that creature slipped into daily life. And that sense of emptiness bled into us... No amount of presents will ever replace a simple gift of, love from the heart. And that burning need to be happy drove her to... strangeness. At all cost.
And day by day that creature gradually overcame the other.
I write now with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. She wasn't a difficult creature to understand at all, once you realised there were two parts to the whole, which were very, very different from each other. But at the time I just couldn't understand; just couldn't reconcile her increasingly bizarre actions with who I had known her to be. If I had known I would have tried harder to reawaken the first creature, rather than wasting all my time feeling bewildered, and hurting in the dark. I would have sought not to touch your face while you slept and tearing silently at the thought that we must surely end... but to talk. To talk, to beat back the second creature until it died. Because we were important to me.
The second creature forced us apart; I'm not sure which wanted to stay friends. And I wanted to be there too, near to her, holding her, being held in return, hearing her tell me at odd momments that she still missed and loved me, telling her the same in return... because I could not understand the necessity for us to come apart. Because I did not know that the second creature had convinced her that she did not love me, enough, and that moving on was the only cure. I could see that was what she really wanted, and though it would have killed me, I chose to stay, and to try to be there for her.
I read her blog and was horrified to think that she was... who she wrote. That all that had been had been a lie that the second part of her crafted, a loveless long drawn out meaningless time spent wasted; an eternal emptiness. And it was devastating.
And so I chose to leave, for me.
In retrospect I now see that all that had been was not a lie. There were two of you.
*****
There are some things I hope you realise, someday.
The first is that I had an urge, when you forced us apart and hurt me, to return you everything you had ever given me, in anger, in disgust, in rage and sadness.
K helped me to seek God out, with the aid of various phrases from the bible. And I see now that these gifts you gave me remain precious to me, even after everything. They help me remember you, the first you, and smile.
The second is that I never wanted anything from you. (But I was still happy when you gave) I always wanted everything... for you.
That is how I am, when I love someone. That is how anybody is, when they love someone. That's even how the first you was, if you think back far enough. I didn't want us to end, because I remembered we were good, and also because I felt I had failed you.
The third is that I understand now why you cried with me in bed that night, after you had forced us to end as a couple; I understand why you cried when I wanted the first time to end the friendship, and I understand even now why you feel unhappiness after that evening I will never be able to forget, much as I want to.
You can deny it - and you will; the second you holds full sway now. You can tell yourself whatever you need to, to cope. It's okay.
But you know as well as I why you cried, and why it was so hard for you to let go.
You know what I meant when I asked, tormented (no, not callous at all. Callous means uncaring, and I was tormented because I cared too much) why you were even crying at all.
If the second you had been right all along, you would have felt only relief. And it would have been difficult to cry.
We both know it's true - we have both been there ourselves.
I know that you really still loved me, and us - and weren't just saying it, the way the second you probably persuaded you that you were.
The fourth is that the greater part of you, the more precious part is the first you.
It is the part of you that makes me say you could be so very, very much more. The part of you that makes me want you to achieve all your dreams. The part of you that gives you all your insights, of which you have remarkably many, which, if it could vanquish the second and persuade you to return to humility and measure, will enable you to step forwards and take hold of your life, for real. The part of you that will protect you from telling falsehoods, and let you lead your life in joy, and never fear repercussions of your actions.
It is, strangely, the part that God grants you the grace to be. And the part of you that I will pray for, forever.
The fifth is that I have no wish to use anything against you, and I bear you no ill will. I am only human, flawed with the same cheap china shop cracks as everyone else; I break from time to time, and my defence mechanisms come to play - the same as anybody else's. When faced with overwhelming evidence of a lack of truth, I become confused and uncertain what to believe; and if I tend towards cynicism in despair, it is how I cope.
My defence against that is God, and prayer.
The sixth is that I will remember you well. I will not forget the lies, but I will not forget the truths either, and it is your truths that I will choose to remember, smile, and feel sad at; perhaps shed the occasional tear while everything is still too raw in my mind.
The seventh is that I forgive you, for every harsh word, for every mistruth, for every moment that I died a little for you, alone. Not so that I can appear morally superior or uber-Christian, which is how you reacted the first time in anger -- I have no face to lose. And the first time I messaged you that I forgave you everything -- even though back then I knew next to nothing -- I meant it, as I do this time.
I forgive you because it is right. I forgive you because I still love you. But most of all I forgive you because God forgave us all for killing his Son, and asked us to forgive each other our sins to each other. I'm no saint, no martyr. I'm a grubby, flawed, sinful, self-centered christian who falters often and reacts poorly under duress. I am ashamed for all the times I hurt you with my graceless reactions.
I forgive you because I want to.
The eighth is that I see you now, a sum of two conflicting parts. Not all truths, not all lies, just you. Everybody is a sum of two parts, but usually they are not in such strife with each other, not so completely hidden from sight.
I see you and I still believe in you, to take control of your life and become all that you can be.
The ninth is that if you had told me all your truths, once upon a very long time ago; they would have made me love you more and fight harder to help you where I have failed.
The last is that, armed with truth I can finally put it all behind me; past is past. And perhaps one day we can return to loving each other as friends, when I stop being selfish and self-centered, and when you overcome yourself, as well. Perhaps one day I will have the honour to stand with you in church.
I look at E, and then at you - not because I want to judge you poorly, but because I just can't help it -- and I feel such immense sadness and a sense of injustice that E, who couldn't possibly hold a torch to you in any way, who is completely insightless and completely insignificant compared to you, in every way, should be granted a chance to change her life - whether she will take hold of it is anybody's guess. But you, who are still so wonderful in my memory, so very remarkable - even flawed as you are -- well, I hope you'll spread your wings and fly.
I remember you asking me in jest why I wouldn't be your Professor Higgins...
that is the difference between you and E. E is common, and base. Her handicap is that she is blind and thoughtless and needs someone to guide her, see for her, and think for her. You are uncommon and filled with potential, you are filled with insight and are special. Your handicap is only yourself, and only you can overcome it.
*****
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree
*****
I remember You telling me once upon a lifetime ago that I had ruined your weekend, that you'd spent it watching As Good As it Gets with your classmates and not really seeing it or hearing the words, and that you spent most of the rest of your time on the phone to your best friend.
I remember smiling, as you spoke.
*****
I don't know what it means, that I went to the store in search of Music and Lyrics, and came away with As Good As it Gets instead.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Freewheeling
So this is me after an afternoon nap, coming back from evening mass.
I haven't gone to weekday mass in quite a while now; I'd forgotten how the sun streams into the church halfway through the service, and somehow makes everything more poignant.
It's been quite hellish, this last month. An unforgettable montage of moments somehow moving in slow motion, sleep deprivation, miserably sleeping in the lab, eating horrible hospital food, and emotional devastation. Sara calls it my final transformation into becoming a woman.
But now the slew of calls is done and gone, the audit is completed. I've had an afternoon nap, and a quiet lunch knocking back Bacardi cokes at Harrys, Holland Village.
Now the engine is switched off and the train is freewheeling.
Free-falling.
It's funny how whenever I face my darkest moments, He chooses to have me face them alone; somehow when I am at my worst the world switches off their mobile phones... but I think perhaps it is His lesson, to remind me to turn to Him.
And so I did, and I'm glad for it.
There will be still be moments when I feel tormented, and moments when I feel overwhelmed at my doubts about... my last year. Horrible moments when I still miss her, and know she will never really miss me in return. I know all these things to be true.
That's all right.
Now is the time for Church, Studying, Running, and swinging my saber about like a wild man.
:)
*****
Strange how I have gone from wishing one person happy birthday in secret, to wishing someone else happy birthday in secret. Secret transferrence.
It makes me happy though, that I get to say happy birthday to Her next month, again.
*****
I can't help but feel I failed you.
I wish I could have overcome my own self-centeredness, and put aside my wounded pride and torment for your sake; I wish I could have been more like Him.
I haven't gone to weekday mass in quite a while now; I'd forgotten how the sun streams into the church halfway through the service, and somehow makes everything more poignant.
It's been quite hellish, this last month. An unforgettable montage of moments somehow moving in slow motion, sleep deprivation, miserably sleeping in the lab, eating horrible hospital food, and emotional devastation. Sara calls it my final transformation into becoming a woman.
But now the slew of calls is done and gone, the audit is completed. I've had an afternoon nap, and a quiet lunch knocking back Bacardi cokes at Harrys, Holland Village.
Now the engine is switched off and the train is freewheeling.
Free-falling.
It's funny how whenever I face my darkest moments, He chooses to have me face them alone; somehow when I am at my worst the world switches off their mobile phones... but I think perhaps it is His lesson, to remind me to turn to Him.
And so I did, and I'm glad for it.
There will be still be moments when I feel tormented, and moments when I feel overwhelmed at my doubts about... my last year. Horrible moments when I still miss her, and know she will never really miss me in return. I know all these things to be true.
That's all right.
Now is the time for Church, Studying, Running, and swinging my saber about like a wild man.
:)
*****
Strange how I have gone from wishing one person happy birthday in secret, to wishing someone else happy birthday in secret. Secret transferrence.
It makes me happy though, that I get to say happy birthday to Her next month, again.
*****
I can't help but feel I failed you.
I wish I could have overcome my own self-centeredness, and put aside my wounded pride and torment for your sake; I wish I could have been more like Him.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Office
This is me, eyes gumming up and failing on two hours sleep last night, still in the office working my butt off to save my ex-boss.
This is me not really understanding how or believing that this is where we wound up. Who would have imagined you would wind up on my "unfriends" list on msn one day, or that we wouldn't be able to speak anymore? I seem to remember things were good between us...
Do you remember us bending each other's thumbs backwards unnaturally as we walked and laughing that we were both freaks; how we used to mock shove each other off the kerb into oncoming traffic as we came up on that row of shophouses with the aquarium shops and the GP practices. Do you remember the stench of the canal near your old place as we walked hand in hand out to zi cha dinner, as we often did, waiting to cross the road at that traffic light near the flower shop thingie and not-nice prata place, climbing the narrow, smelly stairwell up to your place while I pushed you up the staircase or you poked me from behind; kneeling on your bed looking out the window with me at the rain, and the neighbours drawing in their laundry, and the people getting caught in the downpour. Looking at the newly-cleaned landscaped fishtank with the weird fish eating the fresh white sand and spitting it out, now that all the armies of snails were gone?
Do you remember how we used to lie next to each other and look into each others eyes, and touch each others faces once in a while?
I remember you dying in my arms as we fell asleep, how your arms and legs used to twitch as I struggled to stay awake longer than you, so I wouldnt wake you when I snored. I remember killing a cockroach for you in, and then outside your bedroom while you were panicking. I remember taking you to your dentist, and gynae, several times. I remember feeling grateful that we had us, while the darkness of the crazy, faithless world unfolded around us.
This is me, confused by the lies and uncertain what to believe, whether to believe the words you spoke or the words you wrote, uncertain how I feel about anything, and uncertain what I even want to believe, just feeling numbed and kinda anhedonic, not knowing why I should be bothering, but wishing you a happy birthday anyway.
****
She : ...Maybe each time you feel rage or sadness, pray for her... please, do not let anger and bitterness get the better of you
And so I shall pray for you. And try to let all this anger, bitterness, and sadness go.
This is me not really understanding how or believing that this is where we wound up. Who would have imagined you would wind up on my "unfriends" list on msn one day, or that we wouldn't be able to speak anymore? I seem to remember things were good between us...
Do you remember us bending each other's thumbs backwards unnaturally as we walked and laughing that we were both freaks; how we used to mock shove each other off the kerb into oncoming traffic as we came up on that row of shophouses with the aquarium shops and the GP practices. Do you remember the stench of the canal near your old place as we walked hand in hand out to zi cha dinner, as we often did, waiting to cross the road at that traffic light near the flower shop thingie and not-nice prata place, climbing the narrow, smelly stairwell up to your place while I pushed you up the staircase or you poked me from behind; kneeling on your bed looking out the window with me at the rain, and the neighbours drawing in their laundry, and the people getting caught in the downpour. Looking at the newly-cleaned landscaped fishtank with the weird fish eating the fresh white sand and spitting it out, now that all the armies of snails were gone?
Do you remember how we used to lie next to each other and look into each others eyes, and touch each others faces once in a while?
I remember you dying in my arms as we fell asleep, how your arms and legs used to twitch as I struggled to stay awake longer than you, so I wouldnt wake you when I snored. I remember killing a cockroach for you in, and then outside your bedroom while you were panicking. I remember taking you to your dentist, and gynae, several times. I remember feeling grateful that we had us, while the darkness of the crazy, faithless world unfolded around us.
This is me, confused by the lies and uncertain what to believe, whether to believe the words you spoke or the words you wrote, uncertain how I feel about anything, and uncertain what I even want to believe, just feeling numbed and kinda anhedonic, not knowing why I should be bothering, but wishing you a happy birthday anyway.
****
She : ...Maybe each time you feel rage or sadness, pray for her... please, do not let anger and bitterness get the better of you
And so I shall pray for you. And try to let all this anger, bitterness, and sadness go.
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