You tell me about the imperfections I hold in my life as if my body has been entwined in thorns, my soul isolated on an island surrounded by murky water.
You tell me of the excess layer of fats that lay dormant in my belly, my thigh and my butt cheeks. You tell me of my unnerving fixation with the virtual reality. You tell me of my blatant laziness that seems to shy away from the public eyes. You tell me about my obsession with materialistic wealth. You tell me about the things I did that do not contribute to success.
That’s not all.
You then continue to tell me about how you used to live your life when you were my age. You told me the amount of hard work you had been through to get things done not for yourself, but for your family. You told me about how rice and soy sauce were staples at your dinner table. You told me about quitting school midway to earn money. You made a comparison with your life and mine’s and mine’s with others’ in every and any aspect possible – education, work, relationships and hobbies.
And I let you.
You call it a reminder, a call to action, a form of concern. You urge me to change, to put myself in your shoes.
I guess I tried to comprehend it. I tried to stand from your point of view and see myself. You see me as such a person. Someone filled with imperfections. And I made myself believe it.
I see myself as a failure, someone who is incompetent. I let myself succumb to all the comments made about me – the good and the bad.
And the more I try to see myself from another perspective, the more I am lost with who I truly am.
“Are you living my life?”
I can tolerate that.
I can tolerate having told these facts constantly in my face.
But it is tiring to put on a smile. A smile to please you, to hide from the world.
I guess this CNY I am already brimming. I think I should let it all out.
I am tired. It is intoxicating. It is draining.
Maybe you are right, I do not have a goal.
I do not have a goal, that’s why I decided to take up a new language. I do not have a goal, that’s why I decided to waste all my time and immerse myself in the virtual reality. I do not have a goal, that’s why I borrow books from weird, dark authors and wholeheartedly allow the poison to consume me. I do not have a goal, that’s why I wake up early to do the things I wanted to do while you were still in deep slumber, recovering from the fatigue that accompanies you from the night before. I do not have a goal, that’s why I decided to waste my blood, your blood, at donation drives hoping that there will be some better use from that discarded part of “me”.
“Go, just go.”
The truth, the sad unfortunate truth is, we are all drifting further and further apart. It is not as if I did not try to connect, I did but you pushed me away.
The thing is, you pushed me away subtly. You build up my hopes and left me hanging. I fell.
The first time was in the wee hours of the night. I was seventeen, young and ignorant. We discussed my upcoming debate competition, as well as my school’s life. I taught you about how the grades system worked in the new system, you were in awe. I then proceeded on to tell you about my intention to skip school to study on my own. We weighed the pros and cons, the cause and consequences, I was determined but you were mulish.
“Ask mother,” you said.
“But mother said to ask you.”
There’s that, the whole 2-hour long conversation ended just there. You stood up, walked to the door, switch off the lights and headed out. I slept and woke up 2 hours later to go to school.
The second time was when I was in your cab. You discussed your work, and I listened. It was always been the same. You told me about the customers you fetched – their stories, their jobs, their life – they were all very insightful. That’s what I like about cabbies. They go around unnoticed on the streets, people don’t really care about them or their existence, and they listen and sieve information out of their customers under the pretense of building rapport and what not. It is a noble profession.
“So maybe you could consider this,” you said.
“But I have no interest in accounting or science.”
“Just try and see if you can get in. You know when I was your age, I jumped at any opportunity I could get my hands on.”
And look where are you now?
We are drifting apart. All of us. I no longer know what you like to eat, what you like to do, what are your thoughts about this or that. I only know you hate vegetables, you are a realist. You never confront me in the face about pressing issues. You asked another party, whom herself ain’t very complete herself.
You asked someone whose life revolves around drinking and smoking, someone who begrudges about her work, someone who makes fun of others with sarcasm, someone whose wits is quite possibly the only thing I looked up to.
I bet you don’t know that I write most possibly because it is the only thing that I am truly good at or at least better than others. I bet you don’t know my favorite color is white. I bet you don’t know my favorite flower is Black Cosmos. I bet you don’t know that there is another side of me that shines as great as the seven shades of a rainbow.
You know what has been the problem?
I guess I have been too obedient.
Always following orders and instructions. Always seeking help and advice. Always trying to appease you. Always trying to justify everything. Always trying to be the kind of person you envision me as.
I guess I have been too kind, too unrealistic, too oblivious …