the egg

i used to rely on blogger somewhat to get my thoughts out, while being careful to filter through so that although i'm honest when i'm typing, i am still the only one privy to my most private musings.

maybe i can cope better? i don't know.

a large part of not blogging anymore is due to the fact that i'm not even sure of myself anymore. things are changing so rapidly, I am changing so rapidly that it scares me sometimes. if i were to record the million and one snippets that race through my mind in the span of 24 hours, i believe noone, not even myself would understand. so why bother?

it's funny this post coincides with the coming of easter, a time of rebirth. i'm not religious, but i just felt that this was worth pointing out.

i'm not the same person anymore. i hope i've changed for the better but it's too soon to tell. i've lost contact with a lot of friends. even the ones i do talk to, i do sporadically. so i don't have a third person point of view; to confirm that yes, i have changed.

what is the point of this post?

i dunno.

xmas schmexmas!

ha! i am feeling indulgent.
i am fully aware that i haven't blogged in 6 months..... but i shan't excuse myself.
i think that sometimes, getting on with it is the best way to ride out the storms so i haven't been feeling the need to bash out via blogger.
anyways!
it's christmas and that means presents!!!
now, while that sounds horribly selfish (it's all about giving, m'dear!) i have already done my xmas shopping for others.

i'll enjoy my christmas..... it's great times with great people and good food. mmmmmmmmmm.

happy holidays everyone!

nine slashes

you have the power to hurt me like no one else has before.
you say things you don't put thought into - but it keeps me awake at night.
she makes me hurl because i am not she, and i don't want to be.
i don't care who else hears this, but i'll scream this loud as long as i'm right.

he makes me want to crawl into myself and claw through
until the pain stops.
i'll keep on clawing, and cutting, and slashing and slicing
until the pain stops.
each claw, each cut, each slash, each slice
is for her and you and me and her and you and me.
we're going to stay here until we reach the magic number nine.
you're beautiful and sweet and wanted
but i can never make you mine.

i make me cry with my lies, saying it don't matter, it ain't never going to matter.
but it does matter and the pain doesn't stop.
it never goes away when you go away,
it touches me when i sleep, it stirs me awake;
in the silence the pin drops.

it intensifies when you come close,
my anger multiplies and enfolds us both in fiery flames
you ask me to stop hurting
but i can't.
i can't.
i know me too well, and i know i can't.
so there's that.
and that's that.

i just want to be happy,
the way i was happy before you.
i don't trust you to make the right decision
i don't trust you to tell me the truth
i don't trust you to act in my best interests
i don't trust you.

learning to let go.

when will i learn that what's past has passed?
when will i accept that i'm engineering my own self-destruction?
when will i have the strength to realise, let go, and move on?

it doesn't matter any more.
it's not important in the bigger scheme of things.
it shouldn't affect the here and now, and if it does, i have myself to blame.

don't think about her.
don't think about them.
don't think about who came, who left, who dumped and who hurt before you.
don't predict, don't anticipate, don't think you know what you think you know.

why have i become the one who has to shoulder this non-existent burden?
a burden created in my eyes, my mind, my heart;
a burden that only gets as heavy as i want it to.

i have no right to make him feel guilty for something he cannot change.
i have no right telling him i love him for all that he is;
when i'm making us break with the weight of my insecurities.
i have no right demanding honesty when i can't handle honest answers.

yet.....

tell me why it's wrong to feel this.
tell me why i'm being irrational.
tell me i'm not alone.

i just need someone to shake me out of it, bitch slap me and tell me to get over myself.

hiatus

it's been awhile since my last post, 2 months, in fact.
a lot has happened since then, and i'm out of breath with the whirls and twirls of being here, in this very moment, in this timespace.
close friends would know, those who don't, will soon enough.

i went back to msia at the end of february for an operation. i had the op on the 2nd of march, stayed in hospital for 4 days and hassled my mom, doctor and nurses to let me go home. the op was for a 10 X 6.5cm endometriotic cyst in my right ovary. i bled a lot, and what started out as a supposedly straightforward 1 hour operation became a 2 hour one when they discovered my ovary had adhered to my uterus. was very anaemic and blacked out after the op, but it's been a month plus and while i still get tired it gets better each passing day.

i suppose it's good i found it out early. but it's never going to go away. i'll always have painful, heavy periods and there's always the chance that i'll develop more cysts. endometriosis features prominently among the women in my family. my mom had it, 2 aunts of mine had it, and a cousin sister of mine was trying for years to conceive before she found out it was the cause of her infertility.

was quite depressed about the whole thing, and somehow with the arrogance of youth, you can never quite accept that you're not invincible. it gave me an insight into the psyche of a patient - useful stuff for med school, yes? and i learned how to accept things for what they are. you learn that the simplest of things earn you gratitude. and the littlest of gestures make something that is hard, seem easy and effortless.

let's spell it out. it's fucking uncomfortable to be a patient, unless you're a munchausenite. you're nailed to the bed, and your neck muscles, back and butt are at the mercy of whoever happens to comes along and is willing enough to adjust the pillows. you have a catheter stuck up your urethra, and you turn your head only to smell your greasy hair. you know your progress is measured by how often you've passed flatus, whether you can walk to the toilet and start peeing by yourself sans catheter. as for your first shit, man, believe me, no fibre, no motility and no water all combine to give you no motion. and straining your abdominal muscles to poop out hard little peanutty pellets when you have a 4 inch bikini line scar is no walk in the park.

but i was lucky. my mom stayed by my side all the way. she fed me, she hussled me to drink more water so i would pass poo without having to strain. she bought me magazines, put up with my whining, shop talked and gossiped with me. she walked with me to the toilet and wiped me down after when i couldn't bend. and she proved over and over again how much she loved me.

nick called every day and cried on the phone. daddy and boy worried. it was unusual to see my 19 year old brother waiting sadly with a furrowed brow, watching over me when my parents went off to have dinner. friends visited, cheered me up, made me laugh, brought gifts. relatives boiled all manner of herbal soups and chinese brews to get me back on my feet. and i can never begin to thank you all. nothing cheers a patient more than having people who care drop by.

anyhow, it's done and over with. and more stressors are cropping up as we speak. 6 weeks of missed school - not great. a project option essay unfinished - bah humbug. exams in a month - dead duckies don't float. or do they?

don't wait up.

notch of sorts

it's our 6th month together.
and we'll have many months, years, lifetimes more.

thank you for making every love song ring true
and for making my heart sing whenever i'm with you.

i love you ooweejieboo.

the stranger formerly known as...

it was precious and perfect.
it was surreal and dream-like.
it seemed that we had a misty-hued tinge cast on our entire evening.
it was my future flashing before my eyes, and it made me want to press the fast forward button for once, because i knew this man, the long awaited one, would be in it.
but i held back.
what used to give me so much joy, now just gives me too much grief.

but i didn't understand.
i still don't.

how can a dream so real it's only called a dream because it hasn't happened yet, turn to that stranger you see every morning yet never quite reach out to?
i know his name, i know where he lives, i know him inside out, i know, i know, i know.

he's familar enough to walk in my thoughts; i think about him and smile.
he took my hand and let me carry him for awhile, until the penny dropped, and the pretenses shattered.

i know he is beautiful, but therein lies his cruelty.

he gives you flowers then makes them wither.
he makes rainbows in a hurricane sky.
he lives to make you laugh and strives to break you down.
he gives you the loving family, the roof over your head and the man you thought you would never find.

and then he makes your grandpa die without you saying goodbye for the very last time.
and then he kills hundreds in the tsunami, leaving them homeless.
and then he tells you you're infertile and you'll never have miniature me's and miniature him's running around, when you've picked out names and features and godparents.

oh yeah, he's been around for awhile.
and almost everyone grows up without realising he's there.
but he slowly creeps up, showing you the little cracks you thought the paint hid so well and then you know.

i want to sing his praises.
but i also want to warn you about him.

who's he?

he's Life.