Be
careful what you wish for.
Words
with truth indigestible to me.
It’s 12 past 12 now. How auspicious. And recovering from the hectic week at work I am. Friends think I’ve gone completely nutters over work. Such truth-laden words.
The
spine I am blessed with or doomed with (it depends if you’re an optimist or
negativist – is there such a word even?) cries for attention. It’s been
pleading for bed rest since the eyes it’s attached to first caught glimpse of
daylight this morning. Can it never get enough rest to pacify its incessant
plea?
The
tenor croons from the cd player as I try to re-enact the feel of Classic FM play
on my stereo. Alas, a Classic FM compilation seems to be handicapped in
replacing the real thing.
Today,
I once again felt daunted. Daunted by the fact that I might be so incapable of
doing what I need to do to get me back on track again. And what IS back on
track? As I imagine myself scraping my way thru, paving my own path I find my
parents looming above me like a huge fat rain cloud that has no silver lining.
And just then during dinner, I realised how much of the mom I used to know was
fading but still there somewhere. Somewhere I can’t find or reach. Love her I
do, but live with her I can’t. We’re as tragic as a bad marriage I feel.
Holding on is not making us any healthier inside. Everyday we poison each other,
but we hold on…delusioned by false hope that there will be a day when
everything will be fine. Until the day is realised, one of us should stop
poisoning the other. And I guess I should go to give her and myself space and
time. I don’t know if this is selfish or plain immaturity. But I have a dream
of what I want to be by the end of it all, and it’s not something someone else
has moulded me into. Yes daddy, you will make me the absolute success story and
marry me a rich husband but it’s not what I really want now is it? And
wouldn’t the end be worth worlds more if I had done it with my bare hands.
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