I spent a long time in high school thinking that I would forever be an observer. That I would be allowed merely to glimpse those intense-bright-volatile moments of life — heartbreak/fury/joy to be some of them — but that I would never be involved, be inside, be the subject of those situations. But it wasn’t that. It was that I never allowed myself to be vulnerable when[where it mattered. I ate my heart out in front of a comparatively, punily-sized “audience”, silent enough I thought they were just wisps, and hid the gore from my family and friends. They would never want to see any of this, was my thought. And they would never understand, anyway. Foolish girl. Why didn’t I believe them when they said they would be there for me? I believed in the world’s kindness — an abstract conception — yet their extended hands could never fully grasp mine because I recoiled the last second. Thought it was kind, but fleeting. Then they left before I could push through those layers of excuses and hold their hands back. What was I thinking?
These four walls of my room[house made me think I was really and truly alone these 1.5 years. Again to that, I want to say: you silly girl. Step outside and look at the trees, the complex streets, the people jogging and walking their dogs. The laughter and music and TV and trucks rolling by. Knock on your friends’ chatrooms and say hi. Actually show where it hurts to your mom. Girl…really? Alone? In this vast, all-encompassing world? It would’ve hurt much less if you just said something.
But of course I forgive you for that, silly. You did your best.
I had no voice that wasn’t mine to interject when I said out loud I was feeling lonely. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me who let everything slack. Accept me with my rusty voice, my lost conversational skills.
Baliknya kesini cepetan dong. Aku kangen. Aku sayang banget. Maaf dulu belum sempet bilang jelas alasannya kenapa, dan malah ngutarain melalui layar ini, mengarungi kabel serat optik di bawah laut. Bukannya bersebelahan, di atas sofa ruang tengah. Bukannya di dalam ratangga tanpa larangan komunikasi satu- atau dua-arah.
I forgive my family for not being able to look at carnage — god, as if I was any different. I didn’t want to listen to them over my own hurt. I chose words that would inflict pain, un[consciously] — a payback, a tug-of-war of dis-understanding. Did that solve anything? Not really. Pain, pain, pain! All I wanted to do was for you to know of the pain that you’ve caused! And — now I realize. That’s how the generational cycle of trauma starts, isn’t it? Wanted to prove you wrong. I hate you. Wanted you to see through my faults. Wanted you to look at me. Wanted you to say you were proud of me. Why do I have to say all of this? Wanted you to stand up to me. But you never said it out loud. She wouldn’t understand anyway. Oh, FUCK that. I’m done with the agony and I’m ready for our freedom. Let’s just say it out loud, yeah? Let’s just sit on the bed near the glow of the study light and ask for it directly.
I’m thinking of you, I’m thinking of you, I’m thinking of you. No more denying myself of that. I’ll tap your shoulder and say hi when we meet again.
with warmth,
Madina
aku sayang bgt sm km & karya-karyamu