Just Another Monday

All the way to the office, trapped in traffic, my thoughts galloped off toward that unfamiliar side of myself — the one that keeps inventing stories, keeps rehearsing lives I haven’t lived. Sometimes it scares me: what if I start hating her? Maybe that’s what I’ve wanted all along.
I feel for her, and for myself too, in equal measure. She’s living happily now, and that was always what I wanted for her. But it’s a strange kind of sadness — I gave up everyone’s happiness, including my own, to get her there. What was the point? Where was I even going with that?

It’s been a mess lately. Just a little more time before I’m healed enough to be broken again, right on schedule, next year. :-)

Never mind that. Today I think I’ll write a poem for the victims of Hiroshima — a little late, I know, but I still want to leave my mark on that bulletin board, even if hardly anyone reads it. The next one will be for the problems the world still hasn’t solved.

Anyway — that’s all for today. I think I’ll start writing here every morning. Anyone who really wants to find their way into my life will manage it eventually. :-)

What happened a few days ago still sits heavy in me. I can’t believe they came and harassed my parents — stopped their prayers mid-breath, and walked away as if it cost them nothing. I watched, powerless, while people pushed my parents around like they were nothing. I wish I’d been there, wish there were something, anything, I could have done. I want to learn kung-fu, so that when the moment comes, I can make them pay for it. Kiddish, I know. But given the relatives I’ve been dealt, I might need it someday!! :-)

My mother lives under a constant fear that she or my father might be killed one day. I’m trying, at my end, as hard as I can. But sometimes I wonder — am I really trying my best? I know what’s missing: determination, love, support. Who cares! God just sits and watches. That’s about all He ever does.

Just an ordinary day.

I’ve made a few decisions. First, no more girls as friends — all they ever do is complicate an already difficult life. Second, trust no one, not even my roommate. He never really hears what I’m saying, too consumed by his own mania for order and cleanliness. Instead of peaceful weekends, I get rides to a breakfast joint I never asked for, cupboards tidied the way he likes them and not the way I do, bills for ironing clothes I’d rather press myself, just before wearing them — a million small things like that. I want to move out, go back to living alone.

More poems are coming. I’ll keep posting them, hoping someone out there keeps reading. And yet, as far as I know, no one does. :-)