There are days where you feel invincible, days where you feel as if the mere tipping of your toes will hoist you high enough to pick a star out from the night sky. These days, everything you do is adequate. Even the mere act of breathing makes you revel in the fact that there’s so much you can do, will do and have already done that you will one day compile into a heaping list that’ll give meaning to your existence. Days like this, you wish will never end.
Then there are days where you feel like a sail boat on windless sea. Days where hours spent relentlessly working amount to nothing, like scribbling with white ink on white sheets, like dusting cupboards during dry storms. Days where you try so hard but get no where. Days where light blinds and darkness suffocates.
Sadly, today is one of those.
I don’t have pearls of wisdom or words of comfort because most of us have these days that nothing can turn around. Reassurance stings like swabs on wounds and advice falls like bitterness at the back of tongues. Bad days remain bad despite all the good in the world.
But it’s alright, because like everything else, days too shall pass. Good ones, bad ones, they’ll all fall into the valley where we’ll forget to pull them out for scrutiny so even when we look back, we look pass them, through them, away from them as if they never even happened.
So just hold on tight and keep your knees a little too close to your chest for comfort. Let this bad day reign over you, will it away and celebrate its passing. Oh, and admit defeat. The earlier you surrender, the less it hurts.
Image credits: Daniel
One day you will realise that the infallible will fail you. And when that one day comes, you will want to burrow deeper into the depths of your duvets and never ever emerge again.
Happy Sunday to you.
I’m starving. Logically I know I am. I can feel my stomach clawing for food, I can hear my head telling me to fucking eat something, but I can’t.
The empty space has become my best friend. Everywhere I go, I know I have company. It fills up the voids between our conversations and it plants itself in the gaps between us on the couch. Sometimes, when I feel like I am truly alone, it creeps along the edges of my feet, tickling the very tip of my toes like a salutation from a friend that never leaves, a compellation from an enemy that never goes.
I cannot feed myself, because I am feeding it too-this emptiness that seems to grow every single day. In good moments, it cowers away in fear, its normal composed disposition undulated by the positivity of my laughter, the warmth of my toothy grin. In others, it consumes me from the inside out, like a fetus trying to break free from the restrains of what used to keep it alive, like a predator discarding its carcass after a full meal. I am its full meal. My good thoughts, my better thoughts, my sanity, they have all fallen prey, willingly. But there is beauty in this distress, not unlike how there is always beauty in death, in burial. There is beauty in this course of putrefaction because there is weightlessness in being empty. Hate rushes past you, jealousy walks through you, anger dissolves within you and sadness evaporates around you. And love, love leaves you. The love we spend our whole life seeking and hating leaves you, because it can no longer manifest within your warm body of soul. You are barren land, and love happens to be the crop. Dearth and famine replace the empty space as your new best friend and you will be hungry. You will always be hungry.
I am starving. Every piece of my soul is breaking from the hunger and I want to eat. I want to feed myself until the throbbing goes away, until the hole in my chest is filled. But this is a hunger you can never quell, this is a hunger that will never wane. Because it only grows stronger with every bite.
Today, I feel vulnerable.
Today, I feel like the light shines right through me, baring all my flaws. Today, I feel as though the stranger walking outside my door can see right past the wooden gates and into my crooked soul. Today, I feel as though every strand of my hair is out of place, and that every breath I take is an abomination to this world.
Today I feel small.
Today, you could hurt me with the delicate touch of a feather. Today, you could hurt me with the melodious ring of your laughter. Today, you could hurt me with the warmth of your love. Today, you could hurt me. Today, you would hurt me.
Today, I am not the girl who breaks down walls. Today, I build them.
When I do it, I open a blank document and start my usual routine. 1) Change my font to Times New Roman, 2) Adjust my font size to 10, and 3) set my zoom level to 100%. I like seeing my thoughts stain the pristine white background with its coal black words. Its like watching the nectar of an overripe beetroot bleed into the cuticles of your skin. I never saw myself doing it, but I ended up doing it all the same.
The blister on my left index finger is making this a very trying job. Its making every ‘w’, ‘e’, ‘r’ and ‘t’ key I press feel like a subtle punishment. Like when your mother cooks peas for your every meal after a failed your math test. I don’t like to think that I’ve lost touch. That after having not done this for a while, I have forgotten what its like to have the contents of your mind emptied onto the platter that is this vast social network. That after having not done this for a while, I have forgotten what its like to have veiled unfamiliarity react to the aforementioned thought vomit as if it had been written by a long lost friend, a stranger you’ve known your whole life. The other day I told you, I felt my heart breaking – as though someone I was to love so very much in the future had just disappeared. That I was mourning for someone I had yet to love, and now would never have the chance to do so.
I like seeing my words fill up blank spaces. I would scribble them on whitewashed walls, I would chalk them on concrete grey pavements. I would inscribe them with the pebbles on the road, I would mark them with the blood from my fingers. I would write even if they came out illegible, I would sing if they wouldn’t come out in words. I would cry them even if I choked.
I like them the way I fill up loose singlets, like there’ll always be space for more.
“Is it impossible for me to win this fight?
Keep you a little longer in my life.”
Its been quite a long time since I’ve done a cover. Since the occasion calls for it, and I happened to chance upon a really apt song, I thought I’d christen the blog with a virgin video upload of Kina Grannis’ Stay Just A Little. So much has happened during this short period of time, that sometimes, you feel like you’re being forced under water, unable to breathe.
There’s a chronic ache in my lower back, and the pessimist in me thinks kidney failure. Doesn’t help that a close friend of mine who happens to excel in the field of biology finds it amusing to keep me updated with several illnesses that show such a symptom. Also, it seems as though the wait for a job has finally paid off, because a potential employer called this evening and beckoned me down to her quaint little cafe right opposite my house for an interview tomorrow morning at an ungodly timing of 930am. As usual, my mother has repeatedly urged me to stay at home and not to take up the job, yet at the same time not providing me with a source of income and expecting me to remain at home like a child that entertains herself with her own fingers. The princess in me has been forced out of her castle and into the streets to make a living. Growing up sucks.
I am honestly rather nervous about the job interview tomorrow, because the pleasant sounding female on the other line happened to let leak that she wants to “observe the way you work”, of which “you” refers to me and “work” seems rather ambiguous considering the fact that I have yet to know how much I am paid, the working hours and my job scope. Put me in an office and I can confidently say I rock at attending to complaints and queries as well as transcribing certain lectures, but waitressing? I can’t say the same. I envision myself balancing 7 cups on a tray on one hand and then immediately witnessing them crash to the floor, taking with them my pay for the day. Also considering the fact that I am usually the one filing for complaints and criticising the abhorrent behaviour of the service crew, I’m pretty sure karma will come biting me in the back and give me customers from hell.
If you’re reading this, wish me good luck tomorrow. Who knows, maybe I’ll discover my sudden flair for balancing trays of food and memorizing table orders and soon take over the Food&Beverage industry by storm. I mean afterall, the Chows 不是省油的灯.