Arrivals

I don’t know why I feel so stifled.

Standstill.

Y’noe what,

Nothing should matter at this point. Not how much you want to be there, or how much you care, or how much you think you might be missed, or how much you wish you could be a part of his music, an integral piece in his journey. The point very simply is:

He didn’t ask you.

And he should. He should have explicitly requested your presence, if you were that important. You at least afford that amount of respect, that little ounce of recognition for hours talking him through how he should steward his finances and invest in his craft; for all the times you’ve silently willed with all your might that the floodgates of inspiration may be opened; that one day, he would finally discover that he has a far greater story to tell than one that just revolves around another single human being.

But the truth of the matter is simply – He doesn’t want to let you in, you simply have no jurisdiction in that all-important part of his life.

Even though you’ve tried. Oh, God knows you’ve tried.

So pray now, pray for your life, pray your darndest. Pray for strength to stand tall and upright, pray for peace to fall asleep at night, pray for wisdom to carry yourself through tomorrow. Do not succumb to tears. Do not fall back into the throes of despair and crumble to weakness. Take it, accept it now, as a reality. At this point, there are more pertinent issues that hang in the balance. Issues that demand your resource and head-space. Be present to the people that are here. Be attentive to what He is trying to get through to you. Be receptive to the lessons that are surely, albeit harshly revealing themselves to you.

It’ll be alright. You will get over this. Happiness is still possible.

Love,
Me.

Note to Self:

Never, ever, ever count on people for anything.

Seriously.

People are fickle. They are like sheep, governed by a crowd mentality.

Sorry but I don’t think I want to be part of this herd.

I’m tired of re-iterating these lessons I have had to learn multiple times, after having to pick myself up from the hardest falls. It’s frustrating how the passing of time seems to dilute all the anger and bitterness and wrath you swore you’d bring down hard on the people who have trespassed against you. But many ice-packs later, the pain seems to inevitably numb away to a dull throb you learn to ignore, and the memory of it grows so dim it’s as if it never happened. And, you start to forget.

It’s okay. It was just that one time. I’m stronger now. I’ve forgiven him. They didn’t mean it. I’m ready for whatever crap you throw my way. After that, nothing will be able to faze me anymore.

Unknowingly, you have just wiped the slate clean, cleared the score cards, and stupidly learnt to trust again. And then when you least expect it, just when you accidentally let your guard down, allow expectations to build, and (god forbid!) a flicker of hope ignites…

Someone will let you down. And you’ll remember again, like it was only yesterday, that it still hurts like a bitch.

I sent an invite round to Disappointment, and he RSVP-ed to say that he’s coming. Any moment now, I’m going to hear a knock, and there, greeting him at my front door, all I’ll be able to say is:

“Yes, I asked for it.”

Is there any point in saying, ‘Never again’?

Rehearsal

I am clearly: not satisfied.

This current state of constant alertness – my eyes darting to the doors in anticipation of that all too familiar silhouette, my ears pricking up at your name, my mind consumed in its thoughts of you. It’s proving all too hard to handle. It’s pushing the boundaries of reason to its limits, and I’m bursting at the seams.

The authority that I command, so that I may direct with an influence that does not come naturally to me and exercise power over the charge that has been entrusted to me.

The composure that I maintain as I hover amidst the many faces that have begun to grow familiar and safe, names that I am starting to recognise and know by heart. And yet, still, strangely foreign.

The contentedness that I manage to coax myself into, even if I am but in a state of status quo. Even though there is something that I want, or that I think that I desperately need, but am being denied.

They all fall flat on their face.

But next Saturday, I want to wear that dress and feel beautiful. I want to stand tall and proud for all the things that we have built. I want to allow my voice to ring loud and true, lending power and giving weight to words that have been so carefully crafted.

I have to stop letting you rob from me.

And this is one thing, you cannot take away.

One Thing:

It doesn’t pay to be kind.

I think it is becoming clear to me that we’re nearing the end of the road. I’m being slowly chipped away at. And it’s okay, because I think it’s forcing me to tap into a well of strength I never knew that I had. You know, that last bit of reserve energy that’s stored away for the worst cases of all scenarios, or just when one is on the brink of death.

That moment, is now. Any moment, any moment now, it’s all going to come crumbling down,

I can feel it.

And then I’ll have to start all over again. Build again, from the ground up.

Let’s do it. Bring it on.

Caving In

People are immensely frustrating to work with.

I don’t think it’s come as a surprise. After all, it’s been the reason why I’ve avoided it, as far as possible, all my life. It was a key factor that dictated my choice for (in its absence) and against (in its presence) in uni. And now, I think I know why.

It’s not just about them. It’s about what they reveal about me.

I sway in the cross-fire of debate. My mind starts to draw blanks when I realize that I’m struggling to find something to stand my ground, but really, am just leaning into vacancy. Where is this prized ‘opinion’ that is deemed so valuable in both academics and the job interview? The argument, the thesis, this ‘point of view’ that so uniquely defines one mind from another, that makes you… well, intrinsically, you.

I need to feel convicted of something strong enough to compel me to stand my ground. Because when I don’t, I let the tide carry me where-so-ever it wishes. And then I realize that there are multiple currents, crossing and colliding into a whirlpool that sucks you in.

I can’t please the world.

And so, give me my own opinion, my own voice. At least I’ll have the pleasure of sticking by it. Even if it means that I have to go against the flow.

On the Whole

I’m finding it extremely hard to reconcile.

I am torn between a myriad of conflicting selves, the cacophony of voices that fill the auditorium of my mind. They all pull this way and that. So much is at stake – pride and principles. They all seemed to emerge at once, shouting over each other, layer atop layer, clamouring to be heard -

The me that simply wants to be surrounded by people she can call friends on her 21st.

The me that seeks to achieve; that derives deep satisfaction from crafting an argument – feeling the words flow from my fingertips, and the sentences taking frame in my head. I strive for no less than excellence.

The me that is with you. Bright-eyed and eager, brimming with wonder and anticipation. I wonder what it would be like if I engaged every day and every person with this intensity and – Lapping up every moment in the glory of its fullness, documenting it in memories. And it is sad that I fail to realize, that the more I archive, the deeper I drive the knife into the wound.

The me that still wants to save the world. Friend, counselor, confidante, psychologist. I still wrestle with that picture. I need compassion and empathy as second nature, not as an afterthought. I take that back, I think I need to be love.

The me that longs to be Your child, to know You – to sit at Your feet, to wait upon the Lord, to experience the intensity of a first love. A part of me longs to earnestly learn what it means to truly worship, to sing songs of your salvation, to proclaim freedom . Teach me.

The me that struggles to fulfill the duties of a daughter, to rise above the pressures that have been bestowed upon the first-born. More so, something in me needs to move beyond obligation and to dig deep again, return to my roots, remember where I came from… to be grateful again.

The me that sorely wants to lash out at the world. To scream against the unfairness of it all and cry bitterly over the injustice that has been doled out to me. I wish I had the strength to shut out the noise and wall myself up. I used to take pride in standing alone.

It has come to a point where I can no longer find reason behind action. And really, it comes down to one very simple question:

Why?

Why do I go, knowing that I will leave? Why do I try, so damn, freaking hard for something that I can never get… maybe something I don’t even really want.

I will never fit in. I will never have fun. That will never be my scene. This is far from the best for me.

Will this ever feel like home?

Tonight, the bite of the cold brought comfort and freshness, and the tears brought shame instead of relief. I hear words echoing from the past, the rustle of ink-blotted pages and the smell of old things stored away and forgotten – journal entries, ad hoc messages scribbled under the influence of pure emotion, all those incoherent speeches that I’ve muttered in my head.

All these recurring themes.

I need to integrate, to choose a path and stick to it – taking the step forward and never looking back. One foot in front of the other, on and on and on; till the next thing stops me in my tracks.

Hold On, Little Girl

Oh Sarah, don’t be silly,
You’re playing with the big boys now.
And you have no idea how the wheels of the machine turn,
Or how to navigate the political games and power struggles that rage behind the curtains.

Only speak when you’re spoken to. Be seen, not heard.

Transience

‘Substitute friends’

I remember you once asked me what that phrase meant, and I stumbled with my explanation. I was afraid to spell it out, to repeat verbally the summation I could so explicitly provide behind the words of my writing in that fateful letter.

You always manage to pull a fast one on me. Spin one around me so quickly that it takes a while for the dizziness to set in. The emotions I should have felt, the right words that should have been uttered, the foot I should have put down, always come hours too late.

I don’t know how your concepts of friendship, let’s not even talk about love, have cheapened so. I wonder just what has happened in your past, which has so deeply marred your soul and its capacity to simply – just really – know, feel, accept, receive, exchange, and perhaps one day, give love. I try and get past the dull eyes, the stony stare, so devoid of emotion, so resistant to compassion, so impervious to empathy … but when it comes down to it, so deathly afraid of being vulnerable.

Do you honestly believe in circumstance? Do you really believe that everything simply falls into place, that all this, all of me, just fell into your lap by mere coincidence, by dumb luck?

And you tell me that money doesn’t grow on trees.

I’m here because I want to be. We’re together because I make it happen.

But I can’t be the one pulling all the weight, all the time.

And just because it seems like the most natural thing, given what you know about the human track record in selfishness; or the most rational strategy to employ as you survey the weighted list of pros and cons you’ve meticulously drawn up for yourself… it doesn’t mean that I am governed by the same, cold, calculated logic.

I know you’re biding your time, till the next best thing.

And really, if you wanted me to leave, you can just say so.

Trouble Is

It’s so hard doing this.

It doesn’t seem to get any easier. I thought it should, after everything that has been said, all those pep talks and dinner conversations.; after I’ve found myself, all too often, looking into eyes that laugh in amusement at my folly, spill over with sympathy at my helplessness, or is it… pity?

Soon, they might just harden over into a stone-cold stare of resignation.

I think I’ve heard all there is to be heard. The cautionary tales have been told and re-told in every possible way, in a variety of versions, by a startling number of people.

And still, I am incorrigible. I answer when you call. I jump when you whistle. I fly at every presented opportunity.

Because I’ve come to experience firsthand, that sensibility indeed has no foothold over anything when it comes to affairs of the heart. For once, there is a very distinct line between knowledge and action; between the prescribed plans pain-stakingly charted out by the brain, and the arbitrary whims of emotion.

I know I must numb myself, walk away, trivialize, ignore, play hard to get, abide by the rules of the game.

But I can’t.

That is not the way I was wired, and that is not how I want to win this one.

And even still, it is not my battle to fight. I feel ashamed, as a woman, fighting for him like he’s some kind of prize to be won. It’s not my place, it was never. I shouldn’t have tampered with the natural order of things. And it is because of it, that this will never surmount to anything more than what it is today.

I need to be done with this.