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Friday, 11 December 2009

AINNA'S LIFE LESSONS #2

Hello my darlings. I could tell you about how heartbreaking James Morrison was or about that crazy week when I throbbed up and down the stairs of my house yelling Sex sex sex sex because I was bitter and I went swimming the next day for about ten minutes and decided I was better off baking cookies so I did that the next next day,

but I don't want to talk about all of that today.

In fact, I have now lost track of what I wanted to write about earlier. It's supposed to come down to something normal like, I go to school now (!) although I despise all presentations and groupwork and groupmates, I am as fat as fuck, I have rubbish hair (the kind of hair that looks flat), I love squandering time with my boys, I love coming back to my home girls, and I still love you baby (I think I do).

Lesson learnt. People are horrible. Life is seriously short. Sometimes you (have got to) wing it. At the end of the day, it's all about yourself. (no no I'm not selfish, I'm just being honest.)

Happy holidays!

Monday, 23 November 2009

Belum berhenti.

Strange, I want a reason to not put on pyjamas all the time. I want to think that my days are not a collection of tedious hours. I want to be able to breathe.

(We all went to watch New Moon. It was, well I did not get the story. I did not cry (a good friend of mine sat through the show for the second time just to watch me cry, he was looking at my face the entire time, ASS!) but I did not cry. I watched the girl sit on the armchair. October, November, December. I saw her crying in her sleep. I saw her screaming in her sleep. I do not know how that reflected on me. Of course almost everybody else came whispering to me after the movie.)

(What else is new?)
Summary:

He will never see me in this suit!

What psychotic shit are you writing?
Well-
I'm attempting literary minimalism, I said, but not out loud, not on the phone.

I crossed my legs and listened to her voice. She is scolding me but I hear myself more loudly. Fuck! I can't write. Big dream! Big slap! I CAN'T WRITE. School then work then death? Yes probably.

I have got a problem, I try to tell her. Its, mmhm, I see things more clearly now.
What? (She is listening)
I visualize more than ever. Like, he's breathing.
You've got an imaginary friend?
No! I yelled.
It'll be okay. I have no advice for you. I know you've probably advised yourself a hundred times better.
Yes.
Isn't there anybody else?
Yes.
So?
I don't feel like it. I've come to a point when you know, sometimes you say fuck it but only as an expression? well I really mean it. I truly don't care. I truly fuck it.
You're stubborn.
I've hit rock bottom.
Yes. I did not see this coming. I thought things would patch up or you would turn okay.
It's been five months. I've hit rock bottom. I hardly go to school.
You're mad.
I'm not mad. I've hit rock bottom.
Well, you've got to pull yourself together. I'm worried about you.
I've been trying.
Yes. I can see that's working.
Stop it.
You are just, dead.
ARE YOU LISTENING? I HAVE BEEN TRYING.

Kübler-Ross does not work for everyone. Time has a way of changing things. Some people cry, mourn and get done with it. I don't fit into Some People this time around. Instead of forgetting I begin to remember a lot of things. Small things. Very, very small things. Extremely minuscule details. Like the color of the fluorescent light at the stairs last few months. Or the smell of my soft pink sweater after cooking a special dish. I miss the past but I didn't tell her that.

What's your solution?
(I did not have anything to say. I kept quiet.)
What are you going to do?
I will be okay. Time will heal me.
WHAT IN ANOTHER 20 YEARS?
(I laughed. She has a funny tone. Or her tone seems funny to me.) Look. I don't know how. I have been trying and so far this is how it is. I go out, I hang out, I buy a lot of shit. I get sad attacks at the happiest times surrounded by the happiest bunch alive. How do you suppose--
Go out. Dress up.
I do go out. I do dress up.
You're not trying hard enough.
I try hard enough. Do you think I like being like this?
No, I mean you're not trying hard enough to go out with anybody else.
I don't know how.
Bullshit. You're giving excuses.
I'm not.
(She must have let out a loud sigh)
(I can tell)
I don't know how.
God!
--People will talk.
You can pull off ridiculous stunts but you can't figure out this one simple thing?
It's not simple. I don't know how. Tell me how.
I'm not there. Run your own show. Go fucking out.
That's not a solution.
Don't think it as a solution. It should be a beginning.

I can tell she's exhausted. I am exhausted. I don't know if I'm asking for help or people just assume I need help.

(N.B: This conversation is another shot (ref: paragraph 2, line 3) (but I am not excellent); just in case any twenty people out there thinks I'm losing my mind and writing twisted things like my best friend thinks. The truth does not matter.)

Saturday, 07 November 2009

One of the toughest parts of life is deciding when to give up or when to try harder.

I closed my book and jumped off the bed when the fireworks went off. I pushed the window open into yesterday's sky. Black space airbrushed with marmalade bands. The houses begin to stare at me. One morning you were on your chest and your chin on your hands and your eyes marveled about and your thoughts looked through this window.

The cold English air hit me. The story of my window.

It is a window of a door of a window. A slap of glass just above the floor. An effortless suicide, a cigarette break, a conversation with a lover. The window that one morning you were on your chest and your chin on-

A boy in the second house before me shut off the light in his room. He has no curtains. Probably off to catch the crackers with his friends. I don't know. Another house has a double bed with photographs hanging above it. The bedsheets is red.

I sealed the clasps tight and reached for the phone. My father answered. He made my call sound like the strangest thing. My mother behaved like all the good mothers of the world. They both asked me if I was okay.

I breathed heavily under the weight of the duvet. It was easier to swallow whatever I had to swallow when I was lying down. I fumbled an I am okay. Of course I am okay. I have to be okay.

Then we all hung up and I did what I always do each night before going to sleep.

Thursday, 05 November 2009

Quick fix.

You Should Be Here is no longer just a masterpiece on the right.

Tenacity? One of your friends said the same thing, ahm, a synonym to it actually, I replied, playing with the zipper of my (your) sweater.

Strong arms buckled constant. I chuckled softly. It is a terrible feeling. (What changed? What did not? What good can come from a day like this?)

The sinner it sinneth. I am glad I bought the game. Nobody plays Cliffs of Dover with me on Hard like you do.