Mend.

Too much hope is a bad thing. Because you don't know if everything will work out or just dissolve into dust that will swirl in the wind and eventually be one with nothingness and everything all at once. And so you just sit there, waiting. Too afraid to be happy, too depressed at the prospect of being sad.

And you just wait, wait, and wait while life happens as you waste all those moments away. 

There are so many made up scenarios in your head that you fear will never materialize and yet you sit there, heart as fragile as brittle bones that would crack as soon as you moved. 

So you watch from a distance, wanting to feel but reduced to being detached. Maybe it will be alright. There are good days, and there are bad ones. And sometimes it feels like unhappiness is all you've ever known and all you will ever know. 

Happiness comes short and fast before it is gone again. But that's just it. Life goes on, with or without you.

Hmm.

I look for you in everyone, she said. A mop of curly hair, broad shoulders hunched over books lying open on the table, fair skin and a beard, which is kinda pathetic really. 

Baby, I want you.

I sat at The Grill this afternoon because my class was cancelled. My table was facing the side stairs that leads to the library, my back towards the river. Just as well, since I'd have to squint through the entire afternoon if I was sitting the other way around.
My eyes flitter back and forth, hoping to catch you in one of the many passers-by that walk to and fro from their various errands. At the same time I wished that you wouldn't, because of my choice of company. It would break your heart and twist your insides with jealousy to see me like this.
A movement at the top of the stairs catches my eye. For a moment, my breath snags in my chest because I swear that the silhouette belongs to you. My heart stops, then pounds at a million miles per hour. I can't tell for sure because at the head of the stairs the lighting is somewhat dim.
I say a silent prayer, hoping that luck sides with me. To be found out like this could lead to more unforseen and definitely unwanted disasters. The silhouette moves, the shape of the back, the shoulders and the beard unmistakably yours. But funny, you would have seen me by then. And you would have reacted.
The shape moves again, and slowly descends the stairs. My heartbeat slows a little. Maybe it's not you after all.
Suddenly the shape bends to pick up something. His daughter. Definitely not you. He slowly ascends back up the stairs.
As the light gives the man an identity, my mind wanders. His back, the shape of his head, the breadth of his shoulders, the color of his shirt; everything reminded me exactly of you. He was carrying his daughter. I thought to myself, This is how it would look like when you carry our daughter in your arms. Our daughter. 
I savored  those two words on my tongue. How precious it would be.
That scene melted my heart. It was perfect. The way the man's shoulders were slightly bent in a kind of protectiveness and possessiveness over his small daughter, the subtle hardness of his mouth that hinted that he didn't want anything bad to befall her, the way he grasped her tightly, showing affection and steel at the same time, just touched my heart.
You. And perhaps our little girl. That was all I could think about.
In my daydream, I didn't notice that the man had brought his daughter down from the library landing and that she was chasing pigeons behind me. Her father was dutifully following her around, a small smile splayed on his face, with a trace of pride in it. I guess that's how all parents feel towards their small children: love and pride.
Maybe in the near future it would be my turn to look upon my own flesh and blood with such an intensity of pure happiness emanating from my heart that it spills onto my face. With you. Us. And ours. Who knows?
One day, God willing.

Superhuman.

A war is coming. A battle is being fought and try as I may, luck will always put me on the losing end. An emotional conflict is being waged within me. I don't have the courage to show those around me how I feel. So I suffer in silence, hoping that my demons will have mercy and go away and that the balance of things will be restored. Even typing this out doesn't really give me any sense of relief, it doesn't do justice of the turmoil that is inside me.

How is it that some people have it so easy? Perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect grades, perfect face, perfect family, perfect everything. Well, at face value at least. Why aren't I entitled to the same privileges? Why is it that I have to suffer to get what I want, and in the end only to realize that it has been loaned to me temporarily and will be yanked away from my hands in a heartbeat. 

It's not fair. But that's life, people will tell me. When something bad happens, they'd say have patience. HOW ABOUT NO? I don't fucking want to be patient. I want to be happy. For fucking once in my life, I want things to be easy and predictable. I want stability and peace. I want to be sure. I want what the bloody hell that I want. 

This seems like the most childish thing ever, but my fears are real. They won't let me be. And they are tearing me apart and squeezing and twisting my insides. My chest is like the ocean in the middle of a storm, all waves and thunder and rage and chaos. 

This could be a small test for all I know, or this could be the end. I can't tell, I cannot read the future. It's frustrating. I wish people were more honest about things; about how they feel, what they like and what they hate. Why is it so hard? At least things would be resolved quickly. All this waiting and guessing is grueling to say the least and then you find out that all the anxiety was for nothing. 

I may seem like the type of person whom has her shit put together, but I'm more human than what most people dare to imagine. I guess that's the major downfall of having that image of being strong, because when you're at your lowest, no one will be able to comprehend that you need a shoulder to cry on or a nice long hug, or a reassuring rub on the back. Everyone will be all big words and false bravado when all you want to do is have good cry. 

They will feed you ideals when all you want is for your situation to be fixed and your heart to be mended. 

I am too ashamed of myself. For many people, this is a petty thing. But the heart is tender and fragile. It has its desires and hopes, its fears and wishes. 

I have my own dreams that I want to see through and fulfill. I wishes that nothing and nobody will take that away from me. I want to make my own mistakes and take satisfaction from the lessons learned. Is that too much to ask? It is my life after all.

Just last week I was wondering to myself, what is it like to cry?, having had my eyes dry in quite a long time and quite forgotten how it feels like to let my emotions run raw. For too long I've been in that precautionary state, a sort of numbness in which the sadness just simmers below the surface and makes you wonder if you've forgotten how to feel or whether you're human at all. I have quite forgotten how to be happy in a wholesome way. To be happy without the poisonous vine of fear threatening to coil around my little bubble of happiness. 

That fear is evil. Always threatening to snatch away whatever beacon of light I hold so carefully in between my fingers. 

Whenever I share my good news with others, friends or family, their reaction is always, are you sure? 

Maybe it's just you.

Are you really sure? 

Don't be too happy. 

Be careful. 

How is one supposed to live like this? They tell you to live life, but tell you to be suspicious of any golden light that shines on your path. They tell you to be better, but when you tell them you want to chase your dreams, they tell you you're ungrateful of what you have.

It's better to not live at all, if that's the case. Don't they see that the reason you want to leave is because of all the unnecessary baggage that you've been carrying around, that you want a fresh start, that you're taking a risk even though the future is uncertain? True, the grass my not be any greener on the other side, but at least you took a leap of faith. Whatever happens, happens.

Eventually you learn to control your tongue, your enthusiasm. You learn to put on a facade and try your best to make it look real. You lose yourself. You sacrifice your ideals because of other people's reality. And that is the tragedy of life.

That is my tragedy. 

All I want is to show someone whom I can trust that I too, am a human. That I too, have fears. That I too, become scared. That I too, drown in reality. That I too, am dysfunctional. That I too, am not invincible.

All I want is a long hug and a few kind words. Hug me until my pain goes away, hug me until I am whole again. Tell me that everything will be okay. Listen. And tell that my dreams are not just illusions, that they have every chance of coming true. Hug me and tell me everything will be okay. Hug me and tell me that none of my dreams are preposterous, none of them. Tell me that I should never give up on my dreams and that I should keep chasing them even when I stand alone. Hug me and tell me that everything will be okay, that everything will turn out as I imagined. 

Hug me a long warm hug.

Come back to me.

Say something, I'm giving up on you.

You see, both of us are never straightforward. Everything will run smoothly and then either one of us will screw up and we're back to square one again. I don't think you fully grasp the magnitude of how much I like you.
When I screw up, there's always a grace period before we patch things up again. Three weeks at most. And then you're back with your tail in between your legs with your uncertain smile and your apologetic eyes, looking to see whether or not I've forgiven you. You're always unsure if I would. Of course I would. Now that you're on the wrong doing end, I've tried making you guilty just as you've made me feel before.
And I think I'm doing a pretty good job at it. Well, at least I hope I am. I hope you take the time to realize that I'm upset and that you have to do something to set things right again. I'm sure that that small gesture of yours was an olive branch offering, but I'd like to see something more.
Text me for heaven's sake! I bloody miss you. There. I said it. I miss you. A lot. A whole freaking lot.
I'm really upset with myself as well. I've let myself down time and again. I really don't deserve to treat myself this way. But I just can't seem to help it. Gosh, I wish I had more willpower to conquer my demons and preserve my victory.
You know that feeling of being disappointed with yourself? You feel like floating on a wave of air untethered and there's just so many bad emotions coursing through your chest and bogging your spirit down.
It's only the first week of the semester and I already feel like giving up on everything; partly because of the ridiculous workload, partly because of our situation, and partly because of what I've done to myself.
It's funny how when during the semester we look forward so badly to the semester holidays and when their do come around, we never actually accomplish anything significant during the course of the three weeks.
That's mostly what it is. That feeling of unaccomplishment which psychologically bothers me so much. I can't bear the thought of not amounting to anything significant.
And I miss you. Did I mention that? I want to see you. I need to assure myself that what I've worked for after all these years wouldn't be for nothing.
Come back to me.