The running conversation inside my head (part of)

A cat would calm you, of course. You’ll probably be fixated by it: thinking about it on the way to work or as you endure the wafts of pungent dried sweat on the evening commute home, tossing through the many options for a name (as obiang as you want), and using an inappropriate pronoun – him / her, he / she – instead of the proper “it”. In short, it’ll do a whole world of good for you and your sanity. Do consider?

I don’t think I’ll have a cat as a pet. Then again, I don’t know if I should try. It’s just too much of a stretch to make things happen. For one, there’s still this belief that cats stink more than dogs and they are dirtier…

You could educate them. Owning one would. Bulldoze your way through.

There’s the fear if the cat prefers the painstakingly sewed cushion covers to the proper scratching post. Cue hue and cry. There’s that tank in the corner and that machine that hums while cooling the water / air for the fishes. Cats and fishes aren’t the best of friends. This may induce fear, especially when the tank’s not covered.

You know. You should really think about moving out.

I’ve frustrations that you don’t know about because I’ve not said much about them, if at all. In fact, I’ve walled myself up in this area too.

Where do your frustrations go then?

Inside. So imagine with me, if you will, this tiny element of frustration infused with a ton of other emotions swirling in my system – soul, body, mind, heart or whatever you wan to call it. And this is just what I’m saying it to you.

You don’t let them out?

How to? I could express through writing, but I find myself hiding in between words, sentences, paragraphs and the third-person perspectives. I can’t talk to anyone about them because the wall is my only protection and reminds me against spilling way too much.


Oh Him…

He’s said something, albeit indirectly, hasn’t He?

*long pause*

So how?

I don’t think I’ll have a cat as a pet.

The extended tweet

You made me smile and chased away the black clouds in my life. Not many people can draw me out from my wall, but you did. Yet, there’s this feeling I can’t shake it away — you aren’t and won’t be mine. When you said it, I’ve never hated the word “friends” more.

I think I love you. I think I want to experience the things you’ve shared about your life with you. Your adventures. Your observations. I think there’s just so much more we can talk about. To think that I was worried about those little moments of awkward silence…

Should I start at all? Or should I continue waiting? Should I take a step forward and try to brush away the hints I might have misread? Should I consider myself worthy… of you?

I feel like I am someone different when I’m with you. I talk louder. I always get excited because there’s so much in our conversation that I could share.

I like losing myself, but I don’t want to lose you.

Natural progression

It all started with a text message that was sent. With it was hope. He didn’t think that she would be asleep at 11pm on a Sunday evening. He wasn’t aware of her habits and preferences.

By 1am, hope morphed into a monster, fed by fears of rejection. Before he lost consciousness, the last thing he held in his hands was his mobile phone, willing for it to buzz.

She did reply. It came in the morning as he was making his way to work. But by then, the monster had grown into something bigger, more entrenched and sinister. It would plague him for the rest of the week.

He thought a run would introduce endorphins into his system and starve the monster. Blatantly, he ignored the fact that the signs were there during the last two runs when he detected a slight dip in mood on both occasions.

It struck about an hour after Axl Rose was done blasting his eardrums with his distinct vocals. The night was set. Life spiraled downwards.

A week ago, everything was calm and peaceful. A week later, it seemed as though the carpet was pulled from under his feet.

There are words he didn’t care for, not when he can be emotionally incapacitated by his very own.

I Need To Be In Love

There has never been a song in life with lyrics that expressed every word in my heart so adequately.

So here I am with pockets full of good intentions
But none of them will comfort me tonight
I’m wide awake at 4 a.m. without a friend in sight
I’m hanging on a hope but I’m all right

Tonight, if I could, I would.

To someone…

I know it’s my fault that I’ve forgotten your birthday (although I could check the info from your facebook account). But something happened recently reminded me of the dinner we had to celebrate your birthday.

It seemed an age ago, that dinner. And looking back, I felt privileged that you invited me for that dinner. I thought we were that close.

It is with a tinge of sadness when I realised how something must have pulled us apart. I thought you would have shared with me about a recent development in your life. You didn’t and it hurt.

I’m trying to get over this. C’est la vie, I’ll tell myself, although I felt betrayed. You were once privy to bits of my life I wouldn’t have told anyone else about. (Afterthought: Who cares about the bits of my life anyway?)

Perhaps this is another lesson learnt for me. Don’t give people access anymore. Don’t pepper stuff about your life when you’re with people you (think you should) trust.

It’s better to express and let things out by writing. Talk about it in the third person, if you like. Don’t give any context about it when you type things out. Make that piece of prose as vague as possible, so that it gives you the catharsis without spilling out too much in public.

You just have to hide. Until you find someone one day whom you can trust. Even then, there’s no guarantee that you will one day be held hostage to your secrets or emotions.

Guess the best strategy is simply to hide or cover everything with something translucent.