what if

A long time ago, I used to write poems. Or I thought of them as poems anyway. Now, looking back, perhaps they were just a collection of words meant to convey feelings which I were not able to verbalize. I suppose some people may think of me as an articulate person but articulating my emotions have never been my forte. I prefer to pen them down or in this case, type them down.

It seems to me like a different person wrote those "poems." Frankly speaking, I don't think that person, exists in me anymore. Thus, I keep on having to borrow phrases from songs that are already on my ipod/itunes, in order to depict my present state of mind. I apologize for not being very original.

Here I stand alone
With this weight upon my heart
And it will not go away
In my head I keep on looking back
Right back to the start
Wondering what it was that made you change

Well I tried
But I had to draw the line
And still this question keeps on spinning in my mind

I think a more accurate depiction would be if the line was "wondering why you never change" instead. Otherwise, the part about spinning minds is completely accurate.

maybe i just wanna have it all

Was marking papers while listening to my itunes and an old song started playing.

there's a danger in loving somebody too much
And its sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust
There's a reason why people don't stay where they are
Baby sometimes love just ain't enough

I've always wondered what the lyrics really meant.

the calm before the storm

Three classes worth of exam papers are already in but I've yet to mark them. I only just submitted my last paper, which is due friday, this morning. I'm hoping to spend some time tonight to breathe abit but there's alot still to be done. Half of my to-do list will remain undone because I've given up marking holiday assignments. It's much too late to return them to students anyway.

And that's the life of an overworked teacher. So much for "reducing" our workload; most are still teaching five to six classes a week and since my school adopted the modular system for lower secondary school science, I practically see the whole sec 1 cohort plus my 4 other classes from other levels. That's ten classes worth of exam papers to mark this year. But of course, last year's twelve classes was a record. LOL.

Anyhow, I'm much calmer tonight. Was at my neighbours' house earlier, for hari raya visiting, with my mom. For a little while, as we chatted about general stuff (mostly pleasantries which are very mundane and insignificant), it seems like life is as easy as pie, as if no problem was insurmountable.

I am not nearly as angry as I was last week but it's not like everything's back to normal. I'm tired that things that shouldn't have happened just keep on happening over and over again and always regarding the same issues. Moreover, it just gets worse and worse. It will never end.

I guess I'm just a typical Sagittarian that way. I need my freedom but that doesn't mean I will wantonly disregard my responsibilities or obligations. But I'm never good with confrontations. So I do what I do best. I back out.

hate

There are 4 people living in this flat, myself included. My brother occupies the room nearest to the living room. He is four years younger than me but I've long suspected that he's stuck at the mental age of seventeen.

His illness is probably to blame for this because he was diagnosed with lupus right after his 'O' level examinations. Back then, when most of his contemporaries were pulsing with life, bursting with raging hormones and excited at the prospect of tertiary education, my brother was fighting for his life in ICU. Being a lupus patient makes him susceptible to common illnesses which ordinary youths do not have to worry about. He is now working as a clerk somewhere (I'm not sure the exact location) and bringing back around 1k a month. About a quarter or a third of that goes into his monthly medical bills.

My sister's eldest daughter, now sixteen, shares the master bedroom with my mom. She hardly ever goes back to her mother's flat but nobody minds that because everyone thinks she is good company for my mom.

It's been nine years since my father passed away. The years have not been easy for mother; with each passing year, she has more grey hair, more wrinkles, more pains in her joints. And being the only person in this household with a "proper" job, it is my responsibility to look after her, my brother and my niece by default. Thus, this job, which I complain about constantly or whenever I have the opportunity to, is the ricebowl that feeds us all.

ANYone who comes in the way of my ricebowl -- who threatens it, who does not respect it, who puts it on the line and disregards it -- will be the object of my loathing. There are no second chances, no opportunities for remorse or regret.

From now on, I will spend all my waking hours, all my energies, despising you. Your neediness. Your dependence. Your very existence disgusts me now. You are an abomination. A blight upon my life and my happiness.

And now, you are nothing.

i couldn't stop crying

Something inside of me must have snapped. I couldn't stop crying.

After I closed the door of my room behind me, I stumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. For some minutes before, I was able to keep everything in; took a deep breath, turned the key in the keyhole, turned the knob, pushed open the front door, bolted it, then crept to my room like a seasoned burglar -- lest my mother, who at times could be a light sleeper, hears me.

I fell asleep in that pathetic state. An hour passed. The sound of running water must have woken me. I undressed and took a shower. My mother's face peeked from behind her bedroom door.

"Baru balik?" There was no hint of frustration in her voice. Perhaps she sounded even a little bemused.

"Dah tadi," I replied. It was the only words I could muster.

It felt good -- the shower. To scrub off the sweat and grime from my skin. To take off my contacts. To let the water wash off the scent of you from my nose -- your cigarette-tainted breath. But the water couldn't let me forget what you did.

As I curled myself up in bed, I suddenly felt it again. The tears. Another round, but this time, I cried into my pillow.

What I feared the most have happened and YOU made sure it happened. It was inevitable. Your unreasonable jealousy, fueled and enhanced by alcohol, led us to this state, just like those other times before.

Oh but you've gone overboard this time. You've certainly outdone yourself this time. It doesn't matter to you does it? This isn't YOUR neighbourhood. Why should you care? All you care about is to have your wounded pride appeased. Your green eye had clouded your judgment, and now you seek the "truth" and my annoyance at your unfair accusations only achieves to worsen it.

Even now, hours later, with the mild afternoon sun outside my window, I don't think I can forgive you. I am afraid . And I am tired. So tired. I can feel my eyes smarting with tears again.

I cannot forgive. I will not.