Am I always going to be a constant, when everyone around me seems to have had their share of variables? I guess I have probably had mine- in the most subtle technicalities of grievances. Which of the ones hurt the most, which of the ones which were the hardest to get over, which of the ones I didn’t even had the strength to cry for, etc.
I’m sick of being like this- stuck in this place, looking at myself through a silent movie. Not the ones starring Charlie Chaplin but the ones where a mime tries to get open a window, but he doesn’t know which part of the curtain to draw back. I don’t even know how to start, or where to. It’s getting quite comfortable, this place- this helplessness. I’m thinking of investing in some velvet threads for the cushions I bury myself with.
The New Year’s coming in one, two, three snaps of my fingers. I can’t snap very well, it’s a fact I proudly display during impromptu snapping competitions. So these snaps are soft but urgent, because fingers don’t lie- they know I’m getting older but disappointingly, none the wiser.
I don’t know what I’ve learnt and what I haven’t. I know nothing about the world, and the world doesn’t really care for me or my velvet-lined cushions. I cry into them rather audibly on alternate nights- but the world doesn’t take notice. It still carries on with its daily triumphs rubbing into my face, like how environmentally-friendly it is these days.
The sudden inclination to be like Sylvia Plath is tempting, I can definitely see myself as the tortured writer- amazingly talented but massively disturbed, alongside a poet husband- but I’m not selfish enough to want to kill myself. I still believe in God and his greatness, but I want to want to touch it within me, somehow. I want to want it to make me happy.
With that said if only I could translate all these into Malay, that way I could accidentally drop it by my grandfather’s grave and foolishly hope that somehow he’d know what I’ve been going through, and how incredibly premature my midlife crisis is. Also, how his death could play a pivotal part in my much anticipated mental and emotional breakdown. Not so much physical, I still like how food feels in my stomach, thank you.
I’m sick of being like this- stuck in this place, looking at myself through a silent movie. Not the ones starring Charlie Chaplin but the ones where a mime tries to get open a window, but he doesn’t know which part of the curtain to draw back. I don’t even know how to start, or where to. It’s getting quite comfortable, this place- this helplessness. I’m thinking of investing in some velvet threads for the cushions I bury myself with.
The New Year’s coming in one, two, three snaps of my fingers. I can’t snap very well, it’s a fact I proudly display during impromptu snapping competitions. So these snaps are soft but urgent, because fingers don’t lie- they know I’m getting older but disappointingly, none the wiser.
I don’t know what I’ve learnt and what I haven’t. I know nothing about the world, and the world doesn’t really care for me or my velvet-lined cushions. I cry into them rather audibly on alternate nights- but the world doesn’t take notice. It still carries on with its daily triumphs rubbing into my face, like how environmentally-friendly it is these days.
The sudden inclination to be like Sylvia Plath is tempting, I can definitely see myself as the tortured writer- amazingly talented but massively disturbed, alongside a poet husband- but I’m not selfish enough to want to kill myself. I still believe in God and his greatness, but I want to want to touch it within me, somehow. I want to want it to make me happy.
With that said if only I could translate all these into Malay, that way I could accidentally drop it by my grandfather’s grave and foolishly hope that somehow he’d know what I’ve been going through, and how incredibly premature my midlife crisis is. Also, how his death could play a pivotal part in my much anticipated mental and emotional breakdown. Not so much physical, I still like how food feels in my stomach, thank you.
posted by l'excessive at 9:40 AM
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