Sometimes I wish death upon you for a secret glee.

Never ever will I ever subject myself to the same degradation as I was subjected to last night. I wished I was drunk enough to not remember but I’m glad you guys were. Afterall, who am I kidding – you guys come before anything else. Note the sacarsm.

I am digusted, utterly.

p.s. I was never asleep. Heard everything. Funny though, didn’t expect any less from the two of you.

Protected: I should be asleep now.

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A post dug from mid february.

As the title suggests, it was a conversation between me and Yvette I copied + paste.

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
—> See that girl over there?

yvette says:
uh oh.

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
She’s living proof I will always be the bigger man. Correction. I MUST always be the bigger man. Because if I’m not the bigger man, everything I believe in crumbles.

yvette says:
OH MY GOD DANIEL

yvette says:
you did not just said that.

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
And I’m not too ready to lose everything I believe in. Because I rather see lies than hear the truth. Because the truth about the truth, is that it hurts. And no one wants to hurt themselves deliberately, although we still do at the end of the day.

yvette says:
are you on the verge of crying?

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
No.

yvette says:
saturdays arent supposed to be emo nights.

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
Its the whole festive season + late night + smokes thing.

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
And our weekends have always been emo. Why break tradition?

yvette says:
:S

yvette says:
because it is time to start anew.

But girl, tonight you look so pretty. says:
It has always been the time to start anew. It never stopped being the time to start anew. But we’re stubborn creatures, we humans. We still succumb to the sinful bits of life, so when you ever feel like making the whole ‘let’s start anew’ speech, you’d be just sucking up oxygen that could be put to good use if you just shut up and let life suck.

10 months. 10 months was all it took to watch my life trudge in a complete revolution. And when I say revolution, I mean those spirals that gyrates over and over again until you’re sick to your bones.

Run.

So you run, you force your adrenaline against the wind breaking into your face. You run so hard you have to coax the veins in your dear legs to keep still. You run so fast your sweat evaporates before you’d give it a chance to crystallize. You run so far till the starting point has dissolved into the golden crust of the earth and you realise there’s no finish line for you to break through, no sense of accomplishment as you come to a gradual halt, no chance for a gradual halt at all.

You realise that there’s no pot of gold at the other end of the rainbow, that all you’ve been running for is just a big fat question mark. Your jaded eyes remain transfixed on the meagerness that lies across the horizon; you beg your legs to stop yet they stubbornly persist on the race for zilch.

And then it hits you, a realization, the kind you have whilst rubbing shampoo into your dripping curls – that this was never a race to start with. You weren’t running for a lack thereof, you were running from it.

The irony ripens into a joke, and the joke, that’s you.

It.

This is it.

This is the cold, hard truth.

I never thought this would come so soon, seeing how we’ve both been avoiding it like the plague. For the past week, we’ve been walking out of rooms that the other party just walked into, she hangs my clean laundry outside my room and I use the bathroom in the kitchen, all just so this, wouldn’t have to happen so soon.

But it did. In a moment of sleeptalking, warped family moments and deranged screaming, it happened. It happened, mom. The truth happened. And you, you were just too frail for the truth. You fear the truth. You think for a moment that if none of us speak of it, maybe the truth won’t hold so much truth to it afterall.

But here’s the kick, mother. I’m a faggot today, I was a faggot a decade ago, and I’ll still be a faggot until my dying queer breath. And guess what? I’m darn proud of it. I’m a fucking fairy, hooray hooruh.

You claim that me being gay hurts you so bad that it hurts, and may I quote you, “from the heart and all the way to my feet”. I’m sorry if I cannot emphatize with your situation because for the entire week – you, your words, your mood that fluctuates more frequently than the erections of a hormonal teenager and that plastic stench that reeks from your eye – they’ve been the source of my misery. They have driven me to places I’ve never seen myself at, sent my heart hurting where it shouldn’t hurt, forced myself to overcome these aches with one sin after another.

In a week, you have crushed what seemed to be a perfectly fine and loving family into this house that is so scarily foreign, this house which I have so much trouble sleeping in, I resorted to sleeping over at some random guy’s place I met over the net. Yes mom, it’s you. You are it. You are the cold hard truth. You are the reason this family is falling apart. I have given up blaming myself because all I did wrong was a mistake that wasn’t even one I had a choice with in the first place. You are the stubborn headed bitch who refuses to budge your traditional beliefs. You are the one woman I have lost complete respect for. You are the one who needs the counselling. You are the mother who claims to love someone she condemns with such bitterness adorned in her eyes. You are the one who drove suicidal thoughts into my head. You are the one who puts your pride before anyone else, before me, before my sister whose exact last words to me were “You took everything away from me when you were born. It’s your turn now.”

It’s not me, it’s you. You’re it.

To: Charlie.

Dear Charlie,

I don’t know you. Word. In fact, I don’t even know your name. So for now, I shall call you Charlie. I never had a friend named Charlie, and I don’t think I’d ever want to be your friend either. Charlie it shall be, then.

It’s 3.43am. I have class to wake up to, but I thought I’d write you this letter anyway. Because Charlie, my parents just discovered I was am gay, and they have went nuclear on me ever since. All the crazy crying, the begging for me to be normal, the disgusting self-pity they subject me to, the disappointment in their eyes, the way the room falls into this dead, eerie silence everytime I enter the room, and more begging for me to be normal, to be an average 18 year old straight boy who watches, plays and raves about sports, bikini clad girls and cars. They want me to be just like you.

In fact, they want me to be you, Charlie.

They want me to kick a soccer ball, shoot baskets, have twinkles in my eyes everytime I see a pretty girl. They want me to do the things you do, act the way you act. Heck, they’d even want me to walk the way you walk. Have you met my parents, Charlie? Because they sure as well act like they’ve known you all their life, until a week ago.

You, Charlie, have created this role model of a son that they want me to fit into perfectly like a frustrating jigsaw puzzle piece. This, me, I’m not the son they want. They want you. They want normal, they want Charlie. Does this mean I’m abnormal? Tell me, Charlie. Am I in any way any less of a human being than you are? Do I not hurt just like you do, laugh just like you do? Does me being gay, in their eyes, mean they have to stop loving me?

Because I don’t think I can take that, Charlie. I thought I could – not be loved by them – and still be who I am. I tried, let god be my witness, for I really tried. I’ve tried so hard until I’m starting to lose sight of myself these days. I want need their love, their acceptance and their money. I don’t believe anyone deserves to feel motherless, or fatherless. I don’t believe anyone should ever go through that without a valid reason. Neither do I believe there is ever a reason that will validate that feeling.

So I can’t, Charlie. I can’t be you, I can’t not be you and have them look at me with such distance drawn in their eyes. I fucking can’t. I hate you, Charlie. I hate you so much you have no idea. I hate how you’ve developed this chicken or egg dilemma for me that I have no answer for. I hate how you’ve envisioned yourself in their eyes as the status quo, the living, breathing checklist of their perfect son, whereas I, I become this degraded tenant of a house that has stopped providing warmth. I hate how you took my life away completely, all in a phonecall and a couple of tear-soaked tissues. I hate how you have torn this family apart and I hate how you’ve convinced everyone in this family to pretend as if nothing happened, only for their eyes to betray them. I hate you, Charlie.

I fucking hate you. But I’m not strong enough. I have no tears in me left, neither do I have any energy left to hate you. I want to scream but all I can muster is a croak. I want to cry but I have spent all my tears on you. I want things to be back the way they were, but you’ve made it impossible for that to ever happen. I want to pretend that I’m okay, but you constantly remind me that I’m not.

I want to blame someone for everything, for my hurt, for the infectious craziness that has infected every single member of this family, I want someone to lash the blame on because I really believe all it’d take is another burden to be loaded on my sore shoulders before I go crazy.

And that is why, which is in so many ways unfair, but that is why I created you.

Yours truly,
Daniel.

p.s. This is your problem now, now that you’re here. I need the weekends to go well. I honestly believe I deserve a weekend without you. So please, leave me be. At least for the weekends. I’m virtually begging you with my virtual knees on the virtual floor so please.

p.s.s Please.

Wreck of the day.

Have you ever felt like a lab rat, trapped within a small, little compressed plastic box. Space is scare and it just seems to get tighter and tighter as time goes by. And when you’re running around in a 4 by 2 container that resembles that of a lunchbox, time doesn’t go any faster than really slowly. Your only connection with the outside world is this small little peephole, carved clumsily with something obviously blunt. Everytime you try to take a look, all you see is the iris of an eye, one that is looking right back at you. Your every move, your every murmur is silently recorded through the eyes of this stranger who feels so uncomfortably familiar in this vague, eerie way you really don’t wish to get accquainted with. But you know so true that you will eventually have to.

That, pretty much sums up the insides of my head now.

I am suffocating, ma. From your watchful eyes, the concern that leaks out of the edges – I cannot help but notice the disappointment. The intensity that chagrins your newfound wrinkles. Am I really such a letdown, ma?

Has your life really been rippling with one disappointment after another? Is there really no silver lining to all that has happened? Is the only way I can bring that smile back on your face what I really suppose it is?

Because if it is, I might just do it. I might just deceive myself and everyone who had ever truly loved me, that it was all a mistake, that I am someone I cannot be. For the smile to return to your face, stained by nights of wailing alone by the bed, for this family to reclaim the little peace it used to have – it might just be worth it.

So is it, really? Is my fraud eventually the only way out? Because if there is any other possible solution to this wreckage that I believe none of us deserves to be in nor pay for, I will do it. I will go against every belief, spend every last drained cell in me and do everything in my means to salvage your happiness.

But deep down I know, if there’s anything I’m good at – deception is really my game to play.

Time heals, no?

I am angry.

I don’t deserve what you are putting me through. In fact, I shouldn’t be allowed to be standing here, feeling miserable for what you were so quick to condemned to be a mistake. A mistake I never should’ve made. A mistake which I although sometimes regret, but am darned fucking proud of. A mistake that I ache for your approval so badly, so badly it hurts that I don’t see it.

All I hear from everyone else is three words I swear I will hurt anyone else who utters it: “It takes time”. Hell yeah I know it takes time. Do I look like someone who’s so oblivious of the time heals everything theory? The question is, will it really?

Will time really heal everything? Because even though it has only been a day, it felt like a decade has stretched right across me. This longing that grows like weed crawling against a fence – will time heal that too?

So yes, I am angry. I am so fucking angry I am not going to use words anymore.

I am that, angry.

Oh god. Oh dear god.

I’m Gay.

Rain, rain, don’t go away, the sun can come back another day.
Rainy day please stay

 

Why?

Why not a decade ago, when I was still a little boy who saw a unicorn instead of the figure of a women? Why not when I was 14, when you first had a hunch? Why not few years back, when I was constantly inviting mysterious guests over to our house, all whom I’d not let you meet?

Why now, when I’m happy? When I’m determined to allow nothing to bring me down? When I thought I didn’t care less for your approval or love because I thought I had it and it’d never falter? Why now, when I least expect it, when we all knew but no one dared to mention it maybe because mentioning it, putting it in the physical, solid form of words would only make it all real?

Why now, when I really want things to go right for me? Why did you have to turn my world upside down all over again?

I’m gay, mom. And Dad.

The same two people who claimed over the phone and a series of sobs and bawls that they are ashamed to have a gay son and they want me to change back to who I was before. Either that, or they don’t want me at all.

I’ve worked so hard to get past these 18 years of my life, to adapt, to change, to lose faith and garner new ones – all the effort I have put into growing up into who I am today, do you not appreciate it? Do you even know who I was before?

I can’t go back when there’s nothing to go back to. I’m sorry to be such a disappointment and embarassment to the family. I’m sorry, I really sorry – in a pathetic kind of way. I really am.

Noooooooooo.

Oh god. Oh dear god.

I absolutely cannot believe I gave you the benefit of the doubt, along with the chance to judge me. All the harsh words you laid on my palette have instantaneously become bullshit. You’re my sister. My fucking sister. You’re supposed to be there for me, look out for me, not judge me and crucify me with your imperialism. For the greater good, for everyone else’s greater good. Is that your excuse?

Is that your excuse, really?

Then what could be your excuse for this? What could be so mortifyingly disastrous that you had to go against everything you believe in? Or perhaps, everything I thought you believed in.

I honestly don’t know what to make out of your anymore. I don’t know which part of you to believe, I don’t want to lose you as a sister but right now – I’m more than ready to lose you as a person.

**

On a brighter note, I’m refusing to go to school to piss my mother off because she’s pissing me off at ungodly hours in the morning so YOU LOST, MOTHER. (Am immediately deaf to any sentences that are strung by the following words: your, education, you, lost, haha)

Happy 18th, Tzehan. I love you in a I-forgot-about-your-birthday-and-1-hour-into-it-you-had-to-remind-me kind of way. Let’s hope tonight would be fun, shall we?

I need alcohol, pronto.