It's painful

I am sad. I often am, but I rarely express that I am sad, often because the feelings of sadness quickly turns into resignation and well, what do you expect from this world?

But sometimes I am hurt, and thus I am sad.

I wonder if I am not so alone, will I be better?

But even in company of a person who knows you really well, you are different. There can only be so much words to describe things, there can only be so many things from your head you can articulate, and another person can only understand so much.

Sometimes I wish some people, some things, will understand. But they will never. Not only because the many barriers of encoding and decoding a message. Sometimes I don't understand it too.

Some other times, I don't even want to understand. I just want to cease the thought. Cease the feelings.

Anyway. I should have known. I know that I am alone in my thoughts and alone in my feelings. I am never quite sure that I want to have a company for it. Sounds intrusive. It just that I

I

sometimes wish that I don't think so much. Or feel so much.

It's painful.

Water Container

Let's say, there's a container and then you fill it with water until it's full. If you add some more, it'll spill. If you nudge them, it'll spill. If you didn't hold them properly, it'll spill.

Maybe, for years, I have stop growing as a container.

I am filled to the brim, and I cannot hold anymore water.

Or maybe I didn't stop growing--my container is not growing fast enough to keep the water that has keep coming.

I am not a bigger container for the water that I have inside me.




At one point, I am full. And I think I find no way to lessen its amount--or maybe I did, but then it's filled again quicker than I can take them out of me that I am still full.




And apparently, being full is suffocating. It is suffocating, so I just want things to stop.

I think what I did so far is that I look at my container, see it full with water, and pat myself in the back.

"It's enough. You're full."




(I don't want the container to be bigger cuz it's a lot of work.)
(And I don't want the water to be put out somewhere cuz it's also a lot of work.)

(I thought maybe, I was just plain lazy.)



I now realise I am just scared.

I am scared of what entails in being a bigger container. I am scared of the things I have to go through and things I have to sacrifice to be a bigger container.
I am scared that sharing the water out will break other containers. I am sure it will. I have the conviction that I ultimately will destroy those containers and I don't want it to happen.

And I absolutely have no interest on being brave.

I don't wanna be brave. I have accepted that I am scared. And I don't want to overcome it.





Why would I have to, when at one point the container will be filled again
and I have to find a way to make myself bigger
or make get rid of the water that filled me

when I can
stop the source of water?


I thought.





But I just wish I don't have to stop them.


I just wish
it stops.

Saying things out loud

I think it was a month ago or something. I saw a tweet saying something along the lines of “being raised in Asian household makes me unable to say thanks or apologize to my parents”. In most cases, of course, it’s understandable. When family makes mistakes, they don’t need to say sorry since it’s somehow unwritten rule that it’ll be forgiven for sure. When they do or say nice things to us, it’s not a favor. It’s just family thing. Things we normally take as something for granted. High context culture and all that, no need to mention things like sorry or thanks since we’re family. So I know. I know it’s awkward and hard. I’ve been there too.

Never thought too much about the time when I burst out crying because I have disagreement with my parents, or have a shout-match with my sister, because not 5 minutes later we’re going to have dinner together and everything’s alright.

I remember, I saw my cousin said, “thanks” to her mom, and I thought, “Why did I never say thanks to mom? That’s stupid.” So I did. I started saying thanks to her.

I remember, I was in middle school, it was in dining table. I said, “Thanks mom.”

It was so awkward and foreign the first time.

The first time I tried to apologise to my grandma was around then too. I can’t even confirm if she actually heard me or not since I ran out of the room as soon as I finished mumbling, “Sorry I was mean to you when I was younger.”

But it gets easier.

I said sorry to my mom and dad when I said something mean too. Sometimes I said sorry in advance, I said, sorry I’m so easily pissed off these days, please forgive me if I said something mean. Sorry that I was home late. Sorry that I was wrong. My sister too. Sorry, I said that because I was angry. She understood.

You know what? They did too. I didn’t even realize when it started, but my mom and dad say sorry and thanks too. My sister too, obviously. Not immediately, or often (well we don’t have that many things to be sorry for and somethings are just business as usual to say thanks to) but they change as I do it.

Then generally talking comes easy. Not all arguments can be made with sounds reasons, cuz with my parents I cannot help but be easily emotional, but most of the time talks are fruitful and enhance understanding. I thought that’s growing up, talking about stuffs. That was around when I am convinced to take talking face-value, that things can be talked about, and better being talked about. It’s easy for me to say things that is on my mind, because I am never really punished for it, and I find that it solves variety of problems fairly quickly. This prove to cause problems since then I am not equipped with the ability to small talks or bullshit things through, but well, I guess I’m learning (very slowly).

Anyway.

Before I went to London, my aunt told me she gonna miss me. My mom was there. Later on that day, I asked my mom if she’s not sad that I am leaving. She said, “Well, sometimes you don’t say things that you feel” with the most heartbreaking tone and I felt tears pricking my eye.

So there’s that too.

But we grow, you see. At one point, conversations like “please don’t say things like that, hearing you say that hurts me,” or “I am sorry I make you sad, let’s not do it if it makes you unhappy” are common, as we are learning what are the things important to be said and what are the things better left unsaid—things that I don’t imagine is said out loud but in mainstream media.

But really. If everything is normal* then your parents must love you and they learn to be parents too, for all their life. Why wouldn’t they, when their children constantly evolving into something that they may or may not ever imagine. Help them do it. Learn with them. Hopefully we can be better parents and children together when we can talk things through.




*Not all household are ideal so sometimes parents suck, if this is not you then you are blessed indeed

My concerns lately

Sometimes I worry that I am not very honest with myself.

I think I'm pretty honest, but what if I'm not? How would I know? After all, it is me who I'm lying to. And I might be a terrible liar, but I am also pretty gullible. I don't know.

Like… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I know myself so much. But what if it’s because what I am is just what I think I am?

And I wonder if that’s even a valid question, cuz, why wouldn’t you be the person you think you are? I don’t understand this. I have too much existential crisis.



You know, sometimes I get tired too, when I seemed to be more of an interesting specimen, or an exception, for my surroundings. I mean, I also like to think I'm special, but to dismiss my experience or my perspective because I am not 'like most people'  is also disconcerting.



I know I am a serious person, but I didn’t know that I’m so serious that I don’t know how not to be serious about things anymore. I butchered small talk. I cannot. Somebody should tutor me how to not talk seriously, or talk about serious stuffs, or twist a non-serious talk into something serious. How do I keep things light, anyway? What can people even ask about things that doesn’t matter?

That I am

No matter how much I propel, I will never get there.

Never.

But rowing my boat is the only thing I know how.
And you are the only think I know to desire.

Tell me,

When all of this ends, will I reach you then?

Will I find a way, to go to you?

I am not heartbroken,
but I am lost.