Pitiful But Persistent

I have given you parts and pieces of myself so precious to me that I cannot talk to anyone about them. I realised this while I was wondering what I could give you as a little parting gift since I didn't say a proper good-bye and I had never given you any gifts either.

I was looking for something both meaningful and magical, something decent but at the same time joyous, something that would feel like me looking at you: otherworldly yet tangible. How could I put my feelings into a tiny piece of matter, how could I expect a little physical thing contain so great a burden, convey so much as my emotions? And to make it even harder, I didn't want to overshare, to force any weight on your shoulders, to be explicit.

So I searched and searched and searched. I went through my whole life looking for bits of enchantment. It was everywhere, still, it wasn't new to you. I had shared so much with you in so little time. I had given you so many gifts without even realising it. We share the moon and the stars, my favourite music tracks, the hidden corners of the campus, and the pieces of language I like. And yet it seems as we could share tons more. I have kept quiet, bottled up the uncontainable since then, all for I don't even fancy telling others about these little magical spots in my life, to stain them by strangers' gazes.

Some part of me still wants to know all about you. There. Exactly in the right corner of my heart. It quivers and gets squeezed so tight, encircled by memories and figments of imagination.

I miss sitting next to each other on deserted wooden benches of the campus, focusing all my attention on that part of my back that touches the bench, pressing my backbone into it. I miss leaving alone the voices that the air carries heavily, forgetting my eardrums, and instead, sending down all the nerves to the spine, listening to the viberations that the back of the bench carries along. I miss cherishing the viberations that penetrate into my flesh, that reach my heart sooner than any murmuring could ever reach any ear.

There's so much pressure on my cheeks that I can't smile. They almost hurt. This is all because I just got suspended from the National Library. Yes. Definitely.

Crying in the study hall: unlocked. So many new experiences. I have lost count. burnt my lip by a cigarette last week, joined an intellectual discussion in a dark smoky cafe the week before. Had never smoked a hand-rolled cigarette before either. Interesting. Still unable to talk about the main and most important event. I wish I could only stop the tears.

I once said that I've learned how to keep myself from hurting and tormenting others by staying alone.

Should've listened to my own advice. There's no use in groaning and howling like a wounded beast when the pretty little butterfly is already crunched under the very hands that belong to me.

Not true of the world, but my mind is watching it in slow motion anyway. Dead leaves have almost stopped mid way: they're floating in the air. I can't move fast either, fast has turned impossible. So is the keen mind. As if walking on ice, my mind moves too cautiously, too slowly for me to track its movements. What is happening? How did I end up thus mesmerized? Last I remember I was entertaining the idea that life awaits me. Years and years are waiting ahead. Goodness, why does it sound so terrifying? Frozen in fear, I hear their footsteps closing in on me, ready to attack any moment. I know that I must be strong if I want to endure life, if I want to reach anything, anywhere, anyone, if I want to survive. I know that I need a muscular body to take all those hits from years to come. I know that I must have a low pitch voice, a bit husky, a bit coercive, in order to be taken seriously. I know that all would end in ruins if I don't have faith in my own strength, if I can't emotionally lean on my own shoulders. I'm the only one who can stand up for me, and I feel all weak, all beaten up.

I think. I constantly think. That's a burden. I need a quiet place to rest. A place where I can't hear my own mind thinking, my own heart feeling.

There's more but I shouldn't tell.