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You’re the tiger, they said.
Louder than the lion, they assumed.

Your heart is made of steel –
Your skin full of tattoos –

Should that not be
an assumption of your feelings?
shouldn’t you always be strong,
shouldn’t you always be okay alone?

What if
I told you
that every heartbreak was written in verses?
that every sacrifice was in a needle in my skin?

What if
every scar
signified a silent disharmony?

What if
some of us just kept quiet?

Every. Damn. Single. Time.

-EJ, silent ramblings (yet again)

Sour delights

Yawn

Stretch

You have opened your jaws too much, haven’t you?

While I have kept silence, all this while, in hurt?

Your glistening teeth and sharp tongue

Your deceiving sweet words and ruthless eyes

One bite out of your fake delights, and one falls to the floor.

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I have never felt my soul broken into pieces

Like this before.

2 years ago.

25 Nov 2014, I wrote:

What’s love?

We were walking by the river, my mum and I, pushing the stroller with my 11-month -old nephew in it, because that’s one of the very few ways you can get him to sleep. “Did papa ever tell you he loved you?” I asked. 

Now, for most of us, I love yous are something you throw around every day, but somehow, I just couldn’t imagine my extremely practical, former dragon mother (former, because she has loosened up a lot the past few years) exchanging romantic words with her husband. 

“Of course!” mum exclaimed, “But you know, it is always easy to say ‘I love you’. It is easy to be in love and stay in love when two people are young and healthy. You will only know what true love is when you’re required to make great sacrifices.”
And it is true. What my mum said is true.
Two years ago, papa had to undergo an operation for a tumor. Fast forward to today, our family is again faced with some tough times, and we don’t know how much longer papa has in this world. 

I flew back a bit more than a week ago to be with my family; to spend time with papa, and to help mum take care of him. He has been in the hospital for the past two months, and when I got back, he wanted to go home – understandably, because it is much better to be in the comforts of your own walls than in a sterile environment. Mum, my sister, her baby, and I picked papa up from the hospital and brought him back, as he wished.

It hasn’t been a smooth path (then again, no journey is easy with sickness and a constant shadow of death looming at the edge of your thoughts) since we got papa home. The medicines we needed to get, daily, from the pharmacy. The doctor’s visits. The palliative care team’s visit. Getting the hospital bed in. Being attentive to papa’s needs, 24/7. 

You know, the whole ‘in sickness and in health / til death do us part’ thing? You will never even grasp a tiny bit of what that vow entails until you’ve experienced being with someone who’s incapable of taking care of himself (or herself). I see the commitment to that vow in my mum. From the moment papa wakes up, to the moment he sleeps, she’s by his side. Feeding him. Changing him. Wiping him clean. Changing his tubes, dressing. Cleaning up his vomit. Being constantly worried about his comfort. Helping him to sit up. Helping him to go to the toilet. Shaving him. Holding back her tears when he’s talking about the end of life. Every day. Every night.

How many of us would do that, really?
Because it is so easy to think, yeah, sure, of course I’d do that for my loved one. But you see, love is so general and so fleeting. Loving someone, including making physical and emotional sacrifices, is never a given. It’s so easy to send someone to the clinic, or visit someone in the hospital, but when shit really hits the fan, how much time and energy would you sacrifice cleaning it up?
How much true love and kindness do we really have for one another?

A different kind of fairytale

I want nothing more than a fairytale –

But not in the way he looks
how much he earns
nor in the size of his house –

But a fairytale
measured in passion
in intensity
in a never-ending infatuation

A fairytale
that’s made of needing each other

A fairytale
about only being able to sleep
when we’re holding hands.

There is a cocktail made of sadness, relief and revelation.

Untitled ramblings, again.

Oh, you feel the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
You move at the slightest shudder, the softest touch, the most silent breeze.
You feel, you hurt, you tear.

Oh, there are those among us whose hearts are just too tender.
Those who are in vertigo between the lines of acceptable and emotional.

Oh, how we wonder.
How we wonder what kind of right it is, to feel.
-E.J. 

Closed

How weird, how odd.

I was first inspired by my sister to write. Not that she encouraged me; I instead stumbled upon her ‘secret’ book of poems that I too, being the youngest and always wanting to do what my sister was doing, decided to do the same.

My emotions were laid down in verses. My imagination in short stories. When it came to choose a degree course, I took up American Lit (to which my parents asked me how exactly do I think I can earn a living with that) as my first major, Asian Studies being the second. 

I love words. I love how they affect me. 

However, lately, they’ve become too severe for me. Do you get that? I’ve become reluctant to read the books that used to inspire me. I have instead, now, taken to meaningless chick lits, the happily-ever-afters. The Chuck Palahniuks, the Bret Easton Ellises, the Isabel Allendes, the Anuradha Roys, and the likes. The written documentations of human trafficking, of indigenous abuse – I cannot take anymore. They leave me depressed for days.

So yes, the former lover of written words. I have embraced Bridget Jones, your Princess Diaries, your no-brainer works. 

Because otherwise, I do not know how to accept humanity as it is, currently.

If you could, choose ignorance. 

Traurigkeit

Have you always been this sad?
If no, what made you so devastatingly heartbroken?
If yes, how did you ever survive?

A Note to self in 2008

I have (re)discovered that:
-sometimes we hurt other people not because we’re being malicious but because we want to see how much they love us
-and the above doesn’t work 92% of the time
-most of the time we think life is like a movie with the hero and the heroine and that whole shit.. and the whole ‘live happily ever after’ A LIE
-if you take a step back and look things from a different perspective, you will learn to let go of the mess that has been holding you back
-you need someone to tell you to slow the fuck down
-you need someone to tell you what the fuck you’re doing wrong because you’re not always right
-you need to keep people who make you HAPPY HAPPY and who make you feel good about yourself
-sometimes it’s better to be direct than keep things to yourself to avoid confusion
-if you let things go there will be less drama

 

Because we need reminders, time and time again.