Friday, July 4

Woe is me

Somewhere in the process of growing up, I've become a person who no longer trusts words.  It's funny considering how I'm in the business of words.  And that I love words more than everything else in the world. Or maybe that's exactly why.  Words mean different things to people than they do to me. Words of affection and appreciation, gratitude and regret are thrown around so casually that they mean nothing to the said or the received anymore.

For me, words have measure. And meaning. Weight and worth. When I do say the words, I will them with everything that I am. Naively, I expect the same of the people I love.

Knowing that words don't mean anything, actions do, is perhaps one of the hardest things I'm learning about life. 

I could never communicate pain. I was one of those freaky babies that didn't cry at all. Instead, I stared unblinkingly at people until they looked away. Predictably, I grew into an incredibly pigheaded and prideful child. Probably also why in every fight of my life, I have invited myself a world of pain.  

For as long as I can remember, it was always simple -- never show hurt, never reveal a weakness, never expose any vulnerability. Never give anyone the power to get to you. So I didn't.  Not when I was hit by a bike. Not when I had a cigarette burning into my leg.  Not when I was being beaten bloody. Not the million times after.  

For someone who prides herself on being pretty perceptive about most things, it never occur to me to it would mean, because I don't say, I must not feel. That because I refused to let anybody have the satisfaction of seeing me hurt that I got hit that much harder.  

In that, nothing has changed. In fact, I do it so convincingly now that nobody can tell I'm breaking. 


Have you ever found yourself frighteningly lonely? I don't mean like waking-up-on-a-deserted-island- with-no-hint-of-humanity-in-a-thousand-mile-radius lonely.  No, I mean, the kind of loneliness that creeps into your life without warning.  When you roll down numbers and numbers on your phone and have no one you want to call.  Names you hover over but don't ping when you see them shining green on your chat list. Eyes you don't see when you walk into a room.

You know, all this while, that they are there - your staples. People who care. And will listen. Who will make you laugh and everything.

But, no, it's still you I want.

In one month, I turn 26. The end has begun. 


Speaking of birthdays, if I died today, my greatest regrets  (in no particular order) would be

Never knowing love. 

Never having travelled the world. 

Never getting a chance to write/report something truly brilliant/brave. 

Not having done something to make the momma and papa bear know I love them more than anything else in the world. 

Didn't do anything to change the world I was born into. 


This post is fucking depressing. I need ice cream. As Steven Meretzky would say, "Wasted day. Wasted life. Dessert, please."


  1. I dunno if this will help, but I have felt the EXACT same things and live(d) through it by struggling to believe that things will get better. I mean, whatever it is - good or bad, it WILL pass. And before you know it, you will be looking at a much happier self than you had ever expected. Keep faith in yourself, we are all in this together. *hugs*

  2. Three months I don't read your blog, and look what greeted me. :p. Miniball, we all go through all of this most of the time. :-) The important thing is to slowly wake out of it,in your own time. But to wake up. And 26 is not the end. Neither is 62. The end is an end as long as you believe it to be.


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