Friday, October 30, 2009

To My Sister, With Love





In a state between dispassion and wretchedness; feeling undeserving of my fortuitous standing in life and yet, selfishly gratified.

How do we stand so far across the chasm of fortune, but hold so close to our heart the belief of sisterhood?


I have never used my posts to directly speak to a particular individual; today I'm breaking that record.


When it comes to siblings, most people know I have only one older brother. This is for the sister I never had, but whom I found in the early years of sweet girlhood.





Gio, I know it's horrible - the station you have in life now. I know, also, that I cannot fully comprehend the horrible-ness of it all - I am sorry.



Perhaps you can relate to the picture above; like all the world is overcast with strife and never-ending hardship. Like the spotlight is hovering over your household, just waiting to see when you'll give up and break down.

Please don't.

You're a good and beautiful spirit, only encased in dire circumstances. You're my loving and patient sister and you don't deserve this, but we both know that God sends trials to build us up. Remember Job.
You can do this. You can be strong, and work well, and reach for God's hand to hold yourself afloat, and out of these deep waters.



Don't press yourself into a corner and cry. And cry. Remember last, last week; you were doing so well? You can reach that place again. Just stay strong.


Sis, just bring it to me.
Don't let it eat you up 'cause you're too good-tasty-delicious-wonderful-and-valuable for that. And speaking of eating...






Nyehhehehh...
Just keep to your regular meals even though you don't feel like there's anything u wanna eat, okay? I'd still love you if you became a bag of bones, but... to me, you're just fine as you are now!
^ ^



Yours,
~Nic~


Friday, October 23, 2009

Transience



It is definite. I need sleep to function optimally; without sufficiency of the subject, I am enervated, less able to glance off mishaps.





Life was full of meaning, and suddenly it is not.





I must not close myself to the world.





It is always my first instinct, when faced with adversity, to retract into myself; much as a mimosa would shy away from oppression; like shielding a wound from further injury.

Why, then, is being open considered vital? It seems to me that it exposes you; further strengthens your vulnerability; and yet, if closed, the wound festers.




I need someone to tell me the difference between being strong, and not listening to your body.


Someone who will last. Someone who won't fade.



Friday, October 16, 2009

Spitball


Week Two of Oct:

The hours of sleep I got were approximately...

Mon Tues Wed Thurs Fri
2 3 4 5 4

...with Monday being the worst. All this was mostly on account of completing Lit analyses; but recall, I was also dealing with the hassle of ironing out details for D-day (Fri). Checking my inbox with unerring regularity, making frantic phone calls, hounding Fly Fm for their Myvi Troopers... Oh, and not to forget, practice for singing or dancing every single day. Sneaking lunch into class just so the lunch hour could be spent finishing the dance choreography.



And then came D-day itself.
The whirlwind began the moment class ended. We had to set up our food stall (I'd made brownies the night before and Carmen, egg sandwiches), as well as our T-shirt sales stand. I became Performance Director for the day and was practically running around everywhere.

The Troopers' Myvi broke down. Another performer's car had already beaten the Troopers to it the day before. My performances (backup singing for a rapper, and a dance routine) were the opening acts and it felt crazy hectic - but manageable.


Looking back after, I wondered how it looked like from an outsider's point of view. Was it an event in shambles? Or passable? Or better than both of those?
I know some performances were just sheer pleasure for spectators; the deafening-cheer-inducing dance battle, professional Latin dancers who had conquered in competition, a light-footed contemporary spin on Lady Gaga's Paparazzi, sharply executed routines from the Subang campus boys - later at dinner I discovered they'd only choreographed and practised it the night before! All in all, I would consider the event a success in parts. Worth falling sick for.




Week Three of Oct:

Aye, as a result of excessive loss of sleep and such, I fell ill with a cough on Sunday night and 'til now, have gone through the motions of experiencing fever, sore throat and a runny nose. After all those days obsessing over the earthly details of one event, I now felt removed from the world.
I didn't bother to dress up; was as animated as my outfits were all week. Plain. Never have I gone to college in the commonplace pants-and-shirt getup so dang repeatedly. But I dress according to what I'm feeling inside. And I felt bland, lacking in spirit and vigour, indifferent to the specifics for which I usually display concern.




By Wednesday (the worst), people were telling me how my face had "changed colour".
One lecturer even referred to me as a "walking spirit".
I wasn't sure what that meant, 'cause as far as I knew, my face was wont to remain one shade whilst others' might be flushed or pale, depending on the circumstance.

I just want to get well; tired of feeling listless and falling asleep without brushing my teeth or changing out of my day clothes, sleeping 'til the morn.
"Just an hour... then I'll start my work..." doesn't work.
But over 2 nights, I'd accumulated a glorious 20 hours of sleep, and I never once felt like dozing in class subsequently! Been long since I last had that kind of focus in class.


Sunday, October 11, 2009

Gives Me Hell



Don't tell me it's back to January.





I don't know how it gets this way, and I hate it so.


It saddens me to know that someone so close, one who professes love (and a "mother's love" at that!) for me, could turn on me so recklessly in a volatile instant.
But then again...

She never was maternal. I never was brought up the way most children were.


And now I'm made to feel as though your happiness, your well-being, your harmonious state of mind, (and not too long ago, your very life) rests on my shoulders alone.


This is the reason why at times I'm so afraid... I feel so breakable and I know you won't be the one to stop me from falling apart. I'm afraid of breaking you, the same way I fear I'll be broken by you. How could this happen?


I can't fix your past and I can't heal your wounds.


So stop pounding me with your suppressed frustration. Stop using me to recycle your messed up emotions. I know that I was born for this; but also for much more.
Oh, so much more.